Letting Go
by ohcyfan
Summary: This story begins with Owen and Cristina still on the vent and takes them on the next steps in their relationship. It explores the after-effects of Owen's traumatic last tour in Iraq, and works through the impediments in his relationship with Cristina.
1. Vent and Beyond

**Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They are the property of ABC, Grey's Anatomy, Shonda Rhimes, etc. I just like to play with them.**

The jarring sound of two beepers going off simultaneously disturbed Owen and Cristina's otherwise magical moment. Owen pulled away reluctantly and checked out the display, uttered a resigned _Shit_! and then seemed to instantaneously revert to business mode. Cristina was still trying to gather her wits about her as he ushered her towards the door.

"Come on. Ambulance, four minutes out. Car wreck with multiple injuries."

Cristina nodded and followed him out of the boiler room. Their interlude had been all too short, but there was a spring in her step as she exited that had been absent before, and she felt like she'd gone through a massive paradigm shift in a matter of minutes. The incident of the solo surgery and her fight with Meredith suddenly seemed so much less important. She had gained some perspective. It was time to get over all the bullshit and get back to work.

As they mounted the staircase Owen turned to her. "I'm on call tonight but I get off at 6 tomorrow. I'd like to take you somewhere."

"Where?" Cristina eyed him suspiciously.

"Don't worry," he smiled. "You'll like it. I promise."

"Oh great," she muttered with a half smile and a little punch of exaggerated sarcasm - just loudly enough so he could hear: "First the boiler room. Now what, the city dump?"

He stopped in his tracks and pulled her to him for a brief kiss, then leaned his forehead into hers. "Are you complaining, Dr. Yang?"

"Who, me?" she demurred. "At least give me some idea what to wear. Is this dressy, or casual, or what?"

"Very casual. And bring socks." He reached the top of the stairwell and opened the door, allowing her to precede him into the hallway.

She turned to look at him. "Socks? Are you kidding? Is this a pajama party or something?"

Owen smiled again. _He should do that more often_, she thought. "Now THAT would be a very good idea, but no. Just do as you're told for once, ok? Stop asking questions. Come on, we have to get going. I'll swing by your place tomorrow around 6:30. Be ready."


	2. First Date

The next day went much more quickly than Cristina had anticipated. She was looking forward to her date with Owen, and had thought it was going to take forever to come around, but luck had scrubbed her into a very complex and interesting surgery with Dr. Sloan, and the hours had flown by. Now it was 5:45 and suddenly the clock seemed to have stopped dead. She was praying nothing last minute would come in that would delay her from running home to shower and change. Fortunately O'Malley came in a bit early and was anxious to take whatever came in next, so she was able to sneak out a few minutes before 6:00.

_What to wear? Jeans? Nicer pants? A skirt? He said casual, right? So jeans. Now, for the top. Something sexy but very casual._ Cristina settled on an eggplant-colored sweater that set off her curves nicely. Hair down, pulled back just a bit with one hair clip, and she was ready to go. The socks were in her bag, but Cristina still had no idea what they were for. Given what this man had already come up with since they'd met, one thing was pretty certain: This was likely to be interesting. _And_ _I can always tie them together and strangle him with them if I don't like it_, she mused.

Her buzzer rang at precisely 6:30pm and she let him into the building, assuming he was resourceful enough to figure out which apartment was hers. Sure enough, a minute later there was a knock on the door. She opened it to see Owen lounging against the doorjamb as if he'd been waiting there for hours.

"Ready?" he asked.

"As I'll ever be," she retorted with a mystified sideways look. It was almost too much to look at him directly. They were still so new at this. She suddenly felt shy in his presence, and the Tough Girl attitude was coming out big time. "Will you tell me NOW where we're going?"

"Nope. Come on." He took her arm and they made their way down the stairs. "I'm parked over there," he nodded in the direction of a black SUV.

20 minutes later they pulled into a spot at the _Seattle Bowling Center_. Cristina turned to Owen, "Are you shitting me? You're taking me _bowling?_" Owen just looked at her with that cocky look of his. He didn't say it, but Cristina could tell he was thinking, "So?" "Have some faith, Dr. Yang," he teased. "Just go with it and I'll bet you anything this'll be the most fun you've had in ages." Cristina's expression was still incredulous.

"Come on." He opened the door and got out. Cristina didn't wait for him to come around to her side before doing the same. _Whatever,_ she thought.

As they approached the entrance Cristina noticed a bunch of rowdy guys outside smoking and joking around. Their loud voices and jostling gave her an uneasy feeling. _Great_, she thought, _these places are always in the best neighborhoods._ Owen noticed them at the same time and took her hand, walking confidently toward the front door. They took one look at him and parted like the Red Sea. One of the guys even held the door open. _Ok, cool_, she thought, _there's definitely something to be said for going out with Major Badass._

Once inside Cristina was assailed by the sound of balls rolling and pins crashing, the buzz of conversation and the occasional yelp of glee. The odor of greasy fried food and stale cigarettes vied with the sickly sweet disinfectant smell spilling out of the bathroom near the entryway. Bells chimed to her left from the pinball machines in the arcade, and a kid's birthday party was in full swing in an alcove to her right. Owen led her to the counter and quickly dispensed with the details of getting them outfitted and ready to play. He also placed an order for some cheeseburgers and fries, and gave the teenager at the concession stand a big tip so she would deliver their order to their lane instead of just calling it out over the loudspeaker. While all this was going on, Cristina just looked around in amazement that he had thought to bring her here of all places. The snotty skeptic in her was having a field day. For the moment, this felt like a really lame first date. _Maybe this is what Army guys consider classy entertainment,_ she mused. _Army guy first, surgeon second. Now I know._

By the time they had gotten their shoes on and picked out suitable bowling balls, the food was delivered. They took a few minutes to eat before moving back down to the lane and setting up the scoreboard. He started to enter her name first, but she protested. "Ladies first, right?" he asked. "No, no, no. no, no," she protested, "Not this time, please. I suck at this so bad. You go first. Please. Don't make me go first. Please."

"Ok, ok" he teased. "I happen to love it when women beg."

"Eat me," Cristina muttered under her breath. His raised eyebrow and pointed glance let her know he had heard. Though he said nothing, Cristina could read the expression as if he'd spoken aloud: _Don't worry_, _I will. _A hot surge shot from her belly straight down to her toes and she looked away. _Ok, ok, Cristina, get a grip_, she thought.

Her preconceived notions about bowling as the lamest of lame dates underwent a radical turnabout when Owen removed his button down shirt and remained in just a black T and jeans. _Ok, this is actually not too bad, she thought, I can do this if all I have to do is watch._ _I could watch this guy read the phone book and I'd probably melt into a puddle._ When he picked up the ball and took his first shot, she just about fell off her chair. She barely noticed the fact that he'd knocked all ten pins down at once in favor of the view of one super hot looking rear end. _Whoa! Major Badass, meet Major FINEass_, she thought. He turned to her with a smile and she had to consciously remind herself to keep her jaw from hanging open. "Looks like you're up," he said.

Cristina suddenly felt a little frantic. "Ok, so… Have I told you yet that the last person to take me bowling was my dad, and that I haven't bowled since I was eight or nine?" She was trying to conjure up some of that Tough Girl attitude, but underneath it she knew she was feeling really scared for some reason. His incredulous expression was tempered with compassion as he realized the import of what she had just told him. Her father's death had ended this kind of fun for her, and her mom must not have had the energy or the patience to do these father/daughter type activities with her only daughter. Though he could see she was having trouble admitting it, this was actually a pretty big deal.

He looked her straight in the eye and held her gaze for a moment. "Hey, I don't mind if you suck at this, ok? Just try it. It's fun. How about you trust me on this?"

"Ok."

"Go take your shot."

"O-kay!" Annoyed and intrigued at the same time, Cristina picked up the ball she had chosen and tried to focus on hitting the pins, but all she could really think about was how Owen had looked when he'd bowled a minute ago_… Something about the way those hard leg and ass muscles moved… Never really got that view of him before... I just want to... For God's sake! Snap out of it! __**Just throw the fucking ball already, Cristina!**__ You're so horny and pathetic!_ she scolded herself. She aimed, released, and threw the ball straight into the gutter. _Perfect,_ she thought, _m__y mind is already there._ _Now the ball follows. _ She turned to Owen with a rueful smile and threw her hands up with a "See, I told you!" look on her face. The second shot followed the first, albeit making its way slightly further down the lane before staggering off to the side. As she returned to the seating area, Owen didn't rise to take his turn and instead gestured for her to take a seat next to him.

"Ok, Cristina, so you definitely do suck at this." They both laughed, and it felt good to Cristina to share her failure and not be judged or ridiculed. Her upbringing had been pretty strict, and Burke had not helped matters by trying to mold her into what he'd wanted her to be. For once she could suck at something and actually laugh at herself without feeling too self-conscious. "You must think I'm nuts for bringing you here," he continued.

"Kind of, yeah." she admitted.

"Want to know why?"

"Uh huh." _This had better be good, _she thought.

He leaned over, elbows on knees, and studied his hands for a moment. "I learned something important here, and my gut tells me you could use the lesson too." He paused and glanced at her. "I don't mean for that to sound condescending. I just think I get you more than you might realize."

"Go on, I'm listening," she replied. And she was.

"I didn't used to understand the appeal of this game at all. It seemed a waste of time. The only reason I played it was because my buddies were into it, and I liked hanging out with them. Sometimes there were pretty girls involved," he smiled. "It was an ok way to spend a Saturday night, I guess. It wasn't until I became a surgeon that I got what it was really all about. Now that I've been over to Iraq a few times, I get it even more."

She said nothing and waited for him to continue. He had gotten that intense look on his face that he got when he was talking about something deep. _So maybe this was going to be enlightening after all._

"I'm a few years ahead of you, but all of us in this profession tread the same path, at least for a while. We go to med school, and we do our internships and residencies and specialties, and we learn all we can. We go in, and we think we have control because we've studied so hard, practiced so much… We're surgeons and we know how to open people up and put them back together, so everything should work out ok, right? We're doctors, right? People have faith in us. They trust us. And we do whatever we can to make them better. But you and I both know that there are days when, in spite of our best efforts, the patient dies, or the surgery fails, or we just can't get the results we want – for whatever reason…"

She was totally focused now. Every word seemed to be meant specifically for her. She definitely knew that feeling of having things spin out of control, given the events of the last couple of days.

"That's where bowling comes in. I can set up my shot to the best of my ability, take aim, and … once I release that ball, it's out of my hands. I can lean left or right, yell at it, jump up and down, swear - but it's going to go where it's going to go no matter what I do. Once I let it go, I have to really _l__et it go_. Sometimes it goes right down the middle and I get a strike. That's like a good day at work: I've saved a life. I've made a difference. Other times it creates a split or lands in the gutter. That's not such a good day. Maybe I've lost a patient or made a bad mistake. Most days at work are a combination of those, just like most of my games are a mixed bag of shots that work and shots that don't. In the end, all of that has to be ok, because ultimately I have no control. I just think I do."

The sounds of the bowling alley had faded out into nothingness as she listened single-mindedly to what he was telling her. " "Wow," was all she could say, "You've really thought about this."

"Yeah, I have," he continued. "I've had to. Since my last deployment I've been struggling with how to deal with a lot of events over which I had no control, and it doesn't sit well with me. I can't reconcile it with what I wish was true about the world." He shook his head sadly as he spoke. "I tell myself I should have been able to DO something to save my unit – and I know intellectually there was nothing I could have done differently that would have made any difference." He had been looking at his hands as he said these last few sentences, but now he paused and looked her right in the eye. The pained look on his face as he spoke pierced right through her. Her eyes told him that she heard him, really _heard_ him, and he went on. "I'm only just scratching the surface on most of this shit, and it really messes me up when I think about it as if I had any power over what happened… Believe it or not, this place is where I come to make sense of it. Christ, this is the ONLY place where it makes any sense at all. I come, I take my best shot, and I let it go. Bowling is about letting go of the outcome. When I forget that, when I become too God-like in my own mind, I get like I was the other night in that alley. The anger almost consumes me sometimes. So this is where I decompress. This is where I let go."

Cristina just sat there and looked at him._ Wow. This man continues to amaze me. He can take the most mundane place or activity and give it a profound meaning._ "Kind of like the vent…" Cristina ventured.

"Yeah, kind of…"

Sensing the timing was right, Cristina shifted gears abruptly. "So, Big Man, you think you can give me a few tips on how not to score a gutter ball each and every time?"

Owen smiled, rose, and made a courtly gesture. "After you, Dr, Yang."

"Thank you, Dr. Hunt."


	3. Goodnight Kiss

As Owen drove her home, Cristina mused to herself that there were much worse things in life than having an incredibly hot guy stand really close to you, guide your arm, nuzzle your neck, and teach you how to throw a bowling ball so it actually made it to the end of the lane without bouncing into the gutter. And there were **definitely** worse things than scoring your first lucky strike and having that same hot guy smile his sexy smile at you, pick you up, and swing you around before planting a big one on you. Cristina was 100% sure that she had been the envy of every hot-blooded girl in that bowling alley. She had surprised herself, too. Once she got into it, she had laughed and jumped up and down tonight, really felt what it was like to consciously _let go_, and he had been right – AGAIN. It really **was **fun. And of course watching Owen bowl had been a treat unto itself, to be savored over and over in her mind's eye when she got a quiet moment. Now, as they neared her apartment, she nervously wondered how the rest of the evening would unfold.

They pulled up to the curb at a little before 11 and he killed the engine. "Do you want to come in?" she asked.

"Yes, very badly, but I'm not going to. I'll walk you up, though."

Cristina shot him a look but didn't say anything. She had felt pretty sure tonight's events were going to lead into her bed, but had been a little apprehensive about that prospect at the same time. Now that he was the one putting on the brakes instead of her, she started feeling pissy about it. _We'll see about that_, she thought. _No way I shaved my legs tonight for nothing._

On the landing outside her apartment door, he leaned over to kiss her goodnight, but Cristina was learning that a kiss was never just a kiss with Owen Hunt, and things quickly became very heated. She was so worked up she was ready to jump him right there in the hallway. Her back was to the wall and he was practically crushing her into it, all the while running his hands through her hair and down her body. She was kissing him back for all she was worth, hoping he would change his mind and come in. Though they had been pretty discreet at work, at this moment she didn't give even half a shit if Callie or anyone else heard them or walked in on them.

"Are you sure you don't want to come in?" she managed to whisper.

"No. Yes. Yeah, I am." He was breathing hard and trying to contain himself.

"Why _NOT_?" she hissed. They had stopped kissing at this point and his hands were buried in her hair while hers were pulling his T out of the waistband of his jeans. They were both breathing heavily. He released her hair and grabbed her hands; pulling them down to her sides and not letting her go any further with her attempts at disrobing him.

"Two more seconds and you would have had me," he quirked a little smile. "But I don't think we should do this tonight. Not yet." She struggled a little but he held on tightly, so she rolled her eyes at him and gave him a look. _**One** more second and he's getting my knee in his balls,_ she fumed internally. _Does he have any idea how long it's been for me?_ _No, of course he doesn't._ He kissed her again, hard. "Not that I'm not really tempted. If you had any idea what 's been going through my head since I got back you'd probably run screaming into your apartment, because I definitely have some elaborate plans for you." _Sounds good to me, asshole,_ she fumed, but said nothing.

"But I think we've covered enough ground for one evening…"

_Shut UP!_ was all Cristina could think. _Just come inside and SHUT UP!_ He was almost as bad as Mer when he got going. She tried to wrench her hands free again but he tightened his grip and looked her right in the eye. "I know what you're thinking of doing right now and I'd advise against it, Dr. Yang. As we both know from our years of intensive medical training, a move like that could prove counterproductive to any future intentions we might have for that particular piece of equipment." His delivery was so deadpan that it took a minute for Cristina to process what he'd said, but when it finally hit she couldn't help but burst out laughing. And he started laughing too, loud and hard. They were both heading toward hysterics and Cristina hissed, "Shhhh! Shhhh! Omigod, the neighbors!" She slid down the wall, still laughing, feeling like she might pee her pants, until she was sitting sideways on the landing in front of her door. Owen sat down beside her with his feet on the stairs, silently shaking with a few residual chuckles.

It took them both a couple of minutes to settle down, but when they did a new level of intimacy had formed between them. Owen took one of her hands and started in again, "Listen, I … I 'm being serious here. I don't know what it is, but I don't talk to anyone the way I talk to you. Nobody gets what you got from me tonight. I had some guys I could talk to... before... but… they're gone now. And I'm not the kind of guy who just spills his guts to people. I tend to be pretty private overall." He paused and looked away for a moment, seemingly deciding how much more to reveal before proceeding. This was clearly hard for him to say. "There's something here that feels really real to me and I don't want to fuck it up. And right now I'm too fucked up NOT to fuck it up if we go too fast. So let's not rush anything, ok? Trust me on this, Cristina. The minute I know I've got things straightened out, you're going to have to throw me out of here."

He stared into her brown eyes with his blue ones until she nodded, and then he stood up and pulled her to her feet. "I'll see you tomorrow. And try to get some sleep," he teased.

She replied with a sarcastic smile and a middle finger salute.

"Another time, Dr. Yang" he laughed and headed down the stairs.


	4. Got it Bad

Owen headed back to his place with a sheepish smile on his lips and a pang of true admiration in his heart. _This is one hell of a woman I've gotten myself tangled up with_, he mused. Comparing her to a particularly fine Scotch was a huge understatement. Never in his life had he felt such electricity with someone from the very first moment, and he marveled at the chain of circumstances that had brought him to this place. Back on leave after a particularly grueling tour in the sandpit, he'd elected to make a quick trip home to see his folks in San Francisco when his connecting flight out of Sea-Tac had been canceled due to fog on the other end. San Francisco International was a shitty airport to have to fly into because the weather was a mess more often than not, and this was not the first time something of this type had happened, so Owen had a backup plan in the form of a favorite hotel and a few entertainment possibilities. Still in uniform from his flight stateside, he had rented a car and was heading over to the hotel when the accident happened that had landed him smack in the middle of a trauma and into the capable hands of one Cristina Yang.

When he thought about it, the odds of this working out differently, resulting in them never meeting, were mind-blowing. She could have been off that evening, or he could have made a yellow light that he had barely missed, thus avoiding the accident completely. Would they have still run into each other eventually? Probably not. If he had not gotten that job offer from the Chief that evening, he would probably have chosen a different city once he was discharged. Seattle was ok, but there were lots of other places to find work and he would likely have ended up in one of them due to weather, salary, or traffic considerations. If he was honest with himself, he had pursued the position to see what, if anything, might happen with her. The pull he'd felt when he'd first met her had been too hard to resist, and he had been drifting so badly at that point that it seemed as good a lifeline as any.

Owen pulled into the garage of his building and got out of the car. He took the stairs to his 4th floor apartment, more to burn off some of his excess sexual energy than anything else. Thankfully his lecture to Cristina about not having control over outcomes had not extended to this arena. _You poor slob_, he smiled ruefully to himself as he rounded the last landing, _you've really got it bad, don't you?_ _How the hell did you ever manage to keep it in your pants tonight, Hunt? _

He unlocked the door and stepped into his cold and lonely apartment. The place had not seemed so bad before the prospect of being with Cristina had become more of a reality. _Life is short_, he thought. _Enough bullshit._ _Time to start living it again._


	5. Spill It

Cristina unlocked the door to her apartment as quietly as she could, only to find Callie sitting at the kitchen counter with a newspaper and a quart of Starbucks ice cream. She was heading in for a night shift and clearly seemed to think dessert was in order, though from the looks of it, this had been dinner too. As Cristina walked in, Callie looked up nonchalantly. "Ok, spill it, girlfriend," she patted the bar stool beside her.

"Uh, what? Spill what?" Cristina was flustered. Though she had not expected Callie to be out, she hadn't really thought about what she was going to tell her if she was in.

"If I'm not mistaken, and I'm pretty sure I'm not, there was some hot foreplay going on out there a few minutes ago. So… spill. And don't try to hide who you were with, either, because I'm willing to bet I know already."

"If you know so much about it," Cristina shot back, "why don't you tell me?"

"Because I've been sitting here all by myself all evening, there's nothing interesting on TV or in the paper, a patient broke my nose, I'm drowning my sorrows in ice cream, and I'm badly in need of a fix of something more interesting than my own pathetic life right now. Come on, have some mercy, Yang. If you didn't want to talk about stuff like this, you should have roomed with a hamster, not a fellow female."

Cristina grabbed a spoon from the drawer, pointed it at the ice cream, and sat down. "Ok, but only if you share, too."

"Deal."

As Cristina began to tell Callie about her evening, it became clear that the sparks flying between her and Hunt were not likely to stay hidden long. Callie had suspected from the first day that there was something between them. "When I walked in to ask him about the freezing procedure…" Callie began, and then started laughing so hard she had trouble finishing her sentence, "I swear to God… I felt like … I had walked in… walked in on you… giving him a blow job or something!" Cristina put her hand to her full mouth and tried desperately to keep from snorting her ice cream up her nose as the laughter overtook her too. When she finally managed to swallow, she shook her spoon at Callie, "Don't DO that when my mouth is full! Christ! I nearly ended up with ice cream in my sinuses!"

"I'm sure Doctor Feelgood would be happy to see you in his ER for that…" Callie needled her.

"Shut UP! You are SO BAD!"

"Yes," Callie nodded sadly, "I am. Now if I could just find someone to be bad **with** …"

"Doesn't that creepy new intern have the hots for you?" Cristina prodded. "I see her smile at you all the time. That chic weirds me out. Not to mention that she and Mer were apparently separated at birth or something…"

"I don't KNOW!" Callie wailed. "I'm too new at this lesbian thing to read all the road signs. And besides, I think I actually have a thing for Mark, which is sad, because I think he has a thing for Lexie, and he was my FWB, and now I'm afraid he won't be anymore…"

"FWB?"

"Come on, Yang, don't tell me you don't know this. FWB – Friend With Benefits."

"Right. So what are you going to do?"

"Right now? Go to work. I'm on in 15 minutes. Before I go, though, you have to tell me why Hunt didn't come in and fuck your brains out tonight. It sure sounded like you two were headed there from this side of the door."

"Because he's a stupid ASSHOLE, that's why! God! I'm so FRUSTRATED I think I'll have to finish off the rest of this ice cream. And where do we keep the chocolate bars, anyhow?"

Callie gave her a look that said she knew that was not Cristina's final answer, but that she was going to leave it at that for now in the interest of getting to work on time. "You owe me a better explanation than that one, Yang. I'll collect later," she said as she put her coat on and headed toward the door. "Try to get some sleep."

Cristina pointed at Callie with her spoon and let out a disgusted moan. "DON'T - TELL - ME - THAT! That's what he said! Christ! I think I'm going crazy here."

"See you later," Callie waved and shut the door behind her. _At least it's going to be a lot of fun to watch these two at work from now on,_ she smiled to herself as she headed down the stairs.


	6. A Realization

Owen spent a sleepless night alone in his bed, replaying the evening and mulling over how to move out of the stalled emotional weather pattern he seemed to be stuck in. On the one hand, great progress had been made with Cristina tonight; they had played a little, shared some intense conversation, and reaffirmed beyond any doubt that they were incredibly attracted to each other. The fact that Cristina had taken his "go slow" request so badly made him smile. _At least I'm not the only one who's more than a little hot and bothered._ Under normal circumstances, this would be considered a very promising start.

But these circumstances were anything **but** normal, and he was not reacting the way he typically would. As they had moved into the latter part of the evening, rather than figuring out what strategy he would employ to get her clothes off and himself into her bed, he had begun to feel panicked at the idea of sleeping with her. While he felt good about the bond they were developing, it also made him feel anxious, and when they had gotten a little crazy on her doorstep he had been disturbed with brief flashes of memories he'd been trying very hard to forget. That, more than any fear of commitment or connection, held him back. He hadn't been kidding when he told her he was fucked up. _What else do you call it when you're kissing a beautiful, hot, smart and sexy woman and there are people dying in your head at the same time?_ He could only imagine what movie might play in his brain once they were in bed together – open and vulnerable and naked in every way possible. _I could lose it,_ he thought, _I could just fucking lose it._

_I'm not sleeping at night,_ he thought_. Or when I do, I find myself reliving the worst day of my entire life. I'm attracted to this amazing woman and at the same time I'm bone-chilling scared over the prospect of connecting on a deeper level with her._ _And I'm so fucking angry I feel like punching the wall sometimes... I work out like a fiend, but nothing I do seems to make that tension go away for very long._

_Much as I hate to admit it, I probably need to see a shrink._

He stared at the ceiling and swallowed hard_. I need to see a shrink._ Once he admitted it to himself, it was actually not so hard to contemplate. _I still qualify for VA benefits,_ he thought. _I could go see someone away from Seattle Grace and nobody would have to know._ _Besides, a military shrink will probably know a lot more about this kind of thing than a civilian one._

Suddenly he became aware of the pouring rain outside his window. He stared at the ceiling and let the sound wash over him.

_That's it, then, _he resolved. _ I have my next step._ In the dim light of early morning, with another hour before he had to get up, he closed his eyes and tried to rest.


	7. Anders

Fortunately for Owen, one of the top psych guys at the VA had a cancellation for that afternoon. He was relieved, since acting on the decision immediately gave him less time to second-guess himself. He took off work early and headed over to his appointment, telling Cristina he had some business to attend to and that he'd see her tomorrow. He had no desire to get into it with her or with anyone for that matter, and luckily she was so busy charting that she waved him off with barely a nod. Once in the office, he was pleasantly surprised to find that Lt. Col. Anders was only a handful of years older than he was, and that they had actually done a stint in Iraq at about the same time. Though breaking the ice was a bit awkward at first, Owen surprised himself by opening up once he had established that the session was not going to be a bunch of woo-woo bullshit.

"A couple of the guys in that unit went all the way back to bootcamp with me," he explained. "There was another one I'd gone to med school with. And… one of the women was engaged to a good friend of mine. I introduced them to each other…" He was shaking his head as he spoke, and clenching and unclenching his hands. "Some of those people were married, with kids… So why the hell am I sitting here while they're rotting in their graves or sitting in an urn on the mantle? It's not like I want to die… I really don't… but I have a fucking hard time justifying being here …"

"So you shut yourself down instead," Anders stated. ""And when you do enjoy yourself you feel…?"

Owen closed his eyes and paused to think, and when he opened them he felt like he was seeing it all clearly for the first time. "Guilty," he spoke softly but with dawning awareness, "Guilty as hell… for being here… for having a life… for having a beautiful woman interested in me… for everything I guess."

Anders continued to prompt him. "So you find a way to ruin the great moments in your life by…?"

"Yeah…ok… I get it… I get it…" Owen rubbed his hands over his face wearily. "I get it."

"Have you ever heard the term "Survivor Guilt'?" asked Anders.

"Yeah, I have. I thought that was for other people… you know… patients." His half smile was self-deprecating and sad.

Anders nodded his understanding. "Look, Major, I see a lot of guys like you, and I can't think of one decent person among them who doesn't feel this way after losing people close to them, especially in a battlefield situation. It's as normal and human as taking a piss. If you were a Private or a Corporal – some green kid barely out of bootcamp - I could give you the talk about what your dead buddies would want you to do with your life, since you're lucky enough to still have it. But my guess is you're old enough and smart enough and experienced enough to have already had that conversation with yourself. So I think that focusing in on that aspect is probably a red herring for you."

Owen nodded and waited expectantly for him to continue.

"My experience is that there are steps in the process of getting over a traumatic incident like this one, and that most people who get stuck have skipped over dealing with their grief. That's especially true in the Service, because we're supposed to be warriors and just suck it up."

Owen nodded in agreement but still said nothing.

"So I have to ask you, Major… You lost a lot of people who were important to you. Have you given yourself a space to grieve for them?"

_What the fuck?_ Owen shook his head and let out a sound of frustration. "I don't even know where I would begin. I have no idea what that looks like."

"Most people don't. They see people crying at funerals and they think that's all there is to it. Shed a few tears and get over it. Get on with your life... But grieving is a personal thing and your way might be different from someone else's. Some people yell and scream and cry, while others can grieve intensely and not make a sound. It can look like that and everything in between. Either way, you have to take care of it. Otherwise, it's likely to leak out all over the place in different ways. Maybe your temper will be short at work, or you won't be able to sleep, or you'll get violent with your girlfriend, or you won't be able to get an erection. It won't look like grief when it comes out, but that's where the core is. The only way to get past this is to slog your way through it. "

Owen was intrigued, but he was also getting impatient. "Great. Ok. So what am I supposed to do with this information? Should I be looking up their grave sites and going there? Visiting their families? This is all very interesting, but what do you suggest I actually DO?"

"Good question, and no," Anders replied. "You could fly all over the country to a dozen cemeteries and the end result would be no more meaningful than doing some basic work on it right here in Seattle. You don't have to find the actual graves. Your buddies aren't in there, anyway. In the end, this is a symbolic process. Do you have a group photo of your unit, by any chance?"

The question hit him like a punch to the gut_. Yes,_ he thought, _I do_. _The one we all took two days before the end. The one in front of the Humvee with Saddam, that stray mutt we adopted. _

The one Owen hadn't been able to look at since he had downloaded the memory card to his computer.

"Yeah, I do," was all he said.

"Good. That's good. The Tahoma National Cemetery is about a ½ hour outside the city, and there are plenty of Iraq vets buried there. It's open till sunset every day. Take your photo. Pick a grave to sit by. It doesn't matter whose it is. Let it stand for all of them."

"So I just go and sit there? Then what?"

"Then you let whatever comes up, come up. I know that sounds kind of vague, but it has to be. I can't tell you how this will play out for you. The key is not to be afraid of it or hold anything in. Just sit there and let it come."

"You know you're scaring the living shit out of me, right?" Owen asked with an awkward and cheerless smile.

Anders looked him in the eye and held his gaze for a moment. "I trust you can handle it, Major. And afterwards, if you need to, you can come back and talk to me again."

"Ok." They both rose . Owen shook hands with Anders and turned to leave.

"One more thing, Major." Owen stopped on his way out the door and turned. "Wear your uniform. It'll help you get where you need to go."

-------------------------


	8. Pizza and a Misunderstanding

_Something's wrong with Owen_. Though they had not yet spent enough time together to have a frame of reference for a state of normal, Cristina was finely-enough tuned to his energy to know something was off. He had left early the day before, which had been no big deal at the time, but today he had been less engaged than usual at work. That piercing intensity of his that noticed every expression of hers - every success, every error, every teaching opportunity - was unfocused and seemingly uninterested. And she had been floored when he'd missed a chance to berate Karev, who had made a snide comment within earshot of a patient that Owen had definitely overheard. He had even deferred to Derek with a "Just do it your way, then" on a case that would have been better handled with more thorough discussion. This was not the Owen she had grown accustomed to over the past few weeks, and it worried her. _I wonder if he's having second thoughts about me since the other night._ _Maybe I came on too strong. _Being abandoned at the altar by Burke had left her unsure of her own ability to perceive when something was wrong with a relationship, and without being aware she was doing it, she was hyper-sensitive to potential warning signs.

_He's fucking checked out_, she thought. They were sitting at the Pizza Portal waiting for their order, and he was staring off into space and not even talking to her. Cristina folded her arms, stared at him for another moment, and finally spoke. "Knock Knock. Hello? Anyone there?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry. I was somewhere else," he apologized.

"Somewhere more interesting?" she asked with just a touch of sarcasm. _With a more interesting date?_

He shook his head and smiled reassuringly. "Never. I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have asked you to join me tonight. I'm lousy company."

"Tell me something I don't know," she retorted. He raised an eyebrow at her. _That was kind of mean,_ she realized. Her demeanor gentled and she leaned forward and asked with some trepidation, "What's going on?"

"I don't know if I can talk about it right now." He looked supremely uncomfortable. _At least he's finally looking at me_, she thought. "I'm still trying to process something that I think I have to do, but it's really personal."

Cristina's heart started to beat faster and her mind began to race. _Shit,_ she thought, _he's got another girlfriend somewhere and he's deciding whether or not to tell me about it. Or maybe he's considering going back into the military and leaving here. He's bored at this job. That's why he's so disinterested. I knew this relationship looked too good to be true. _

She tried to keep her affect neutral. "Try me," she said. There was a slight edge to her voice.

"No, really," he said. Her hand rested on the table and he placed his over it. "This is nothing to do with us… well… except for how it might get in the way…"

_Shit, _she started to fume,_ I was right_. _There's someone else. No way I'm going to walk right into another heartbreak when I can see this one coming a mile off. I am so done with secretive men who don't tell you what's wrong and then just leave you…" _She pulled her hand away and started to gather her things. "When you decide to clue me in, give me a buzz, and I'll see if I can pencil you in on my calendar." She rose and started toward the door.

Owen looked at her in shock and got up, grabbing her arm. "Hey, wait! What the hell is going on? I must be missing something here."

"Well, let's see. You have some big personal thing that you just said might get in the way for us, and you don't want to tell me about it, so I'm thinking to myself that I'm better off getting out while the getting's good."

He just stared at her for a second. "Ok, I'm confused." He shook his head. "And clearly I'm fucking something up but I don't know what or why. Will you please sit down?" She just stared at him. He gestured toward the seat. "Please?"

She stood for another moment and then nodded. _Maybe I'm overreacting_, she considered. They both sat down again. Just then their pizza arrived and he took a moment to acknowledge the waitress before turning his full attention back to Cristina. "What the hell was that?" he asked.

She stared at him, trying to read the situation, and said nothing.

"I feel like I just walked in on somebody else's conversation… like there's some subtext here I'm not clued into. Before I say anything more, maybe you want tell **me** what's going on?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "You first," she said.

He met her gaze for a moment, then plated a slice of pizza and handed it to her. "Eat something, Dr. Yang. Maybe that'll improve your surly disposition," he joked uncomfortably.

_Touché, _she acknowledged silently. _She_ took the plate from him. _I guess one of us is going to have to start talking or this evening is going to get really tedious._ She took a bite and then looked at him with a more playful attitude, "You're right! I feel better already. Look how much nicer I am."

Owen laughed. "Can we start this whole thing over? I forgot where we got on, and I have no idea where to get off."

It suddenly occurred to Cristina that her assumptions about what he'd been telling her earlier could be completely off base. She was making up stories without having the facts. _What had he actually said? This was something personal, and it might get in their way._ Surely there were other explanations that didn't include him leaving or being a cheater. _Has he been anything but straight with me since the moment we met? I have to remember he's not Burke. He's so not Burke. He's like the Anti-Burke. _

"I'm sorry," she said. "You're not the only one with shit in their past. I got screwed over a while ago and I thought I was over it, but..."

"Want to tell me about it?"

_I kind of do,_ Cristina realized. _Why not? If he takes off after this, I'll have saved myself some grief in the long run. And if he doesn't… _"Did you know I was engaged to an Attending last year?"

Owen looked at her in surprise and was quiet for a moment. "I've been studiously avoiding the hospital grapevine, so no, I had no idea. Anyone I know?" he asked as casually as he could manage, meanwhile mentally ticking off the male Attendings at Seattle Grace. No one there seemed worthy of her by a long shot. He hoped to God it wasn't someone he was working with. That would be a complication he could do without.

"Maybe by reputation. Ever heard of Preston Burke?"

Owen shook his head. "Nope, the name doesn't ring a bell." _Well that's refreshing, _she thought_. Burke was a legend in his own mind, but not in everyone else's, apparently. _Suddenly the cult of Burke worship at Seattle Grace began to seem provincial and silly to her.

"Well, anyway, we were supposed to get married… and we had the wedding all planned… and I was there in my dress… and… he took off," she ended flatly. _No, the pain is not gone...__ It was humiliating. But it was actually easier to say this than I thought. I don't really FEEL anything about it anymore. That's good. That's really good._

"Took off … as in left you there?... as in left you at the altar?" Owen was incredulous.

Cristina nodded. _This is the moment of truth. _ She looked at him, assessing.

"What a fucking coward. No real man would treat a woman that way. I can't even picture you caring about a guy like that. Where is this piece of shit, anyway?" he asked. There was a mischievous glint in his eye, "Want me to beat him up for you?"

_Now this is NOT the reaction I expected_. A smile began to curve Cristina's lips. _I think I would actually pay to see that. _ "If he ever comes back I'll point him out for you, and you can have at it," she replied as she took another bite. "But I don't think he's ever coming back here. At least I hope not."

"Did you love this asshole?"

Cristina let out a little snort, "I thought I did, but looking back on it, he didn't love me for who I was. He was like this Cardio God and I was his little disciple. He kept trying to remake me into the right woman for him. I lost a part of myself in that relationship, and for a while I thought I'd never get it back," she finished.

"And have you gotten it back?"

She looked into his blue eyes and felt a warm glow suffuse her. "I'm definitely working on it," she said.

"And he's the reason you almost walked out of here just a few minutes ago?"

"Well, not directly," she considered, "but you don't leave someone at the altar without keeping some pretty big secrets. I mean, if we'd been communicating we would never have gotten to that point…"

Owen nodded as he picked up the thread, "So I go and tell you that I've got something personal and that it might affect us…"

"And that's not a position I'm ever going to put myself in again," she affirmed.

"Got it," he said.

"So you have to tell me what's going on with you, even if it's personal. You can't shut me out because I need to be able to trust that there won't be any awful surprises here, or I can't move forward with you."

Owen felt the way he had felt when she had told him about her Dad. _Another layer of the onion peels away._

"Ok," he agreed, "but let's eat first. Our pizza's getting cold. And I can't do this on an empty stomach."


	9. Getting Real

"So you're supposed to go to the cemetery and just sit there?"

"Something like that."

They were in the living room of Cristina's apartment, where they had gone after he had made her swear up and down she wouldn't jump him once they got inside. He had teased her pretty mercilessly about it, thus skillfully dissipating the last vestiges of discomfort over their altercation earlier in the evening. Once inside, he had glanced around and nodded his approval of her new space, then asked if she had any cold beer.

Now she was nestled with her back against the arm of the sofa and her feet in Owen's lap. He was absentmindedly doing incredible things to her instep with his thumb as they spoke. The small intimacy charmed her. _Forget the sex_, Cristina was practically purring, _I'll marry you right now if I can come home to this every night._ No one had ever rubbed her feet for her before, and after a long day and a big dose of self-disclosure, it was even better than sitting in the lobby over at Derm.

"And this is supposed to help you get over your grief?"

"So I'm told," he nodded skeptically. "What's your take on it?" He leaned over and picked up his beer from the table.

"I guess I wouldn't know. I mean… I've never been through anything like what you've been through…"

He looked askance at her. _Really? Never?_

"Oh, that… well, yeah, that was the worst thing that ever happened to me, but I was only a kid then. Besides, in my family, we didn't do much of the emotion thing. We were more into the intellect thing, the 'You only got a 99 on that test? You're grounded!' thing…." Owen smiled_. That fits._ "Come to think of it, I don't remember ever seeing my mother cry, not even right after my dad died. It just wasn't done."

"What about you? Did you ever go to his grave? Or cry over him?" He took a long swig of his beer.

"There was no grave to go to. He was cremated and we scattered his ashes into the ocean. I remember going with my mom to do it. It was all so matter-of-fact, kind of like… I hate to say this, but… kind of like taking out the trash. It was just something she had to take care of so we could move on. There were no tears… The only time I remember crying about it was in the car right after the accident, waiting for the ambulance. And when they officially told me he was dead... I mean I already knew... but it still hit me and I cried a lot then, but I remember my mom's disapproval and... she didn't have to say anything for me to get the message. After that it was all kind of a blur. I think instead of getting into it emotionally, I set out to DO something about it by becoming a doctor. That's how I coped. So what you're talking about doing here… it's like a foreign country to me. It's completely outside my frame of reference."

"Mine too," he said. "We military types, we're supposed to just suck it up and move on. A part of me felt like a wuss just for going to see the shrink in the first place." _Yet I told her about it and that turned out to be easier than I thought,_ he mused. _I actually feel better just talking about it with her._

"So what are you going to do?"

"I think I have to at least try and do what the guy said. One thing I've learned in life is that the stuff that scares you the most is usually the stuff you have to go do. This definitely ranks right up there." He shook his head, "I'm resisting it like crazy… I haven't even been able to bring myself to mapquest the cemetery or print out the photo. It's like I get paralyzed when I think of taking the actual steps to get there. I've never been like this about anything before. Usually I just charge right in and get the job done."

"What are you so afraid of?"

"That's a really good question. I've been asking myself the same thing." He put his beer down on the table and ran his hands over his face before replying. "It just feels so massive, kind of like a huge boulder crushing my chest. I'm afraid to touch it at all… Like I'd be waking up a sleeping monster or something. Right now I have it locked up tight," he made a fist over his heart, "but if I unlock the box…" he turned to look at her, "…I'm afraid I'll never get it back inside."

She thought for a moment. "Maybe you're thinking about this the wrong way. Maybe it's not about getting it back inside. Maybe it's about releasing it and letting it go." He nodded thoughtfully as she continued, "Some smart guy I dated once told me something about a… what was it? Oh yeah,… a bowling ball..." she ventured.

He half-smiled. "A bowling ball? That's ridiculous!" he teased. He took her hand and pulled her into a sitting position, bringing them practically nose to nose, "He sounds like a real jerk to me."

"I happen to have a history of falling for jerks," she whispered.

"Oh yeah? Lucky me, then." He hovered just a breath away from kissing her. He smelled of beer, and she happened to like the smell of beer, especially on him. As she moved even closer, she felt a little tickle from his goatee. He smiled at her. They both hesitated for a long moment before delving into a deep kiss. His hands sank into her hair. One of hers went around his neck and the other ran down his chest and playfully tiptoed down the front of his pants.

His hand caught her wandering one. "You promised," he groaned.

"I lied," she whispered.

He kissed her harder and pulled her body closer. "It's ok. I forgive you." They tumbled back against his end of the couch with her on top, and were just starting to move into uncharted territory when the sound of a key in the door caused them both to freeze. Owen groaned. The overhead light was on and there was nowhere to hide as Callie breezed into the apartment, then stopped dead in her tracks.

"Whoa. Hello… Um… Did you know there's a bedroom **right** over there?" she pointed. No response. "No? Well, ok, goodnight then." She quickly made her way through the living room and shut her door. A second later she came back out and hit the light switch. "Um, electric bill..." Her bedroom door closed again. Cristina exploded in a fit of giggles while Owen silently shook with laughter. He tickled her and she laughed even harder. It struck Cristina that this was the second time in a row they had started out getting steamy and ended up in a fit of hilarity. _Still, not bad,_ she thought, _given the way we started out our evening._ Even so, the moment had been disrupted, and to her chagrin they didn't go back to what they had been doing when Callie walked in. _For shit's sake,_ she reflected, _we haven't even really gotten to second base. I feel like a horny teenager whose parents keep walking in...  
_

"Can I sleep here tonight?" Owen asked when they finally stopped laughing.

She looked at him in surprise. "Um… I thought you didn't want to… uh…"

"No, I mean sleep, here on the couch… with you… just like this. If I get up and drive home, I'll never fall asleep tonight. As it is I don't sleep much these days. But this is nice. And I think if we just stay put I'll have a shot at getting a few hours in."

By way of response, Cristina, who was lying completely on top of him at this point, snuggled in deeper and lay her head on his shoulder. He put off heat like a furnace, and she felt exceptionally warm and cozy. He grabbed the throw pillow that had fallen on the floor and stuffed it under his head, then reached up and grabbed his coat off the back of the sofa, and placed it over her. Her weight on his chest was comforting, and he brushed her hair away from her face, kissed the top of her head, and closed his eyes. Cristina lay awake for a while, listening to his breathing get progressively slower and deeper. His arm was a reassuring weight across her back. _I could get used to this_. _ I could really get used to this._ When she was sure he had fallen asleep, she, too, allowed herself to drift off.


	10. Cristina's Offer

Owen startled awake to an all-too-familiar sensation of danger; his heart was pounding and his adrenaline racing. It took him a moment to get his bearings, and another moment to register that the usual horrific dreams that accompanied that feeling were surprisingly absent. He let out a long, relieved breath when he realized that this time, the cause was purely physical; Cristina had shifted in her sleep and her knee was now wedged firmly up against his rather substantial morning erection. He grimaced, then glanced at his watch before placing a preventive hand on her knee to block any sudden movements. 6:30. They were both due in at 8:00. A further inventory of his condition had him realizing that his neck was a little bit sore, but that he felt surprisingly rested. He had actually slept soundly for a few hours. That was big news.

He hated to wake her, but they both had to get up soon in any case. "Cristina," he whispered. She didn't move. "Cristina…" He shook her gently. She burrowed in deeper and he had to exert considerable pressure on her knee to keep it from digging in where it had no business. "Yang!" This time his loud and urgent whisper must have penetrated the fog, because she jolted and nearly nailed him. "Please – move – your – knee!" he ground out. She was finally coming awake, and after a brief second of confusion, she said, "Oh! Sorry!" and complied. The next thing he felt was her melting into him as if she was the hot fudge and he was the sundae, and he was hard-pressed to find a reason to move now that the knee was no longer a threat.

_Whatever I have to do so I can have this, I have to go do it already_, he thought. _Every day I procrastinate is just another day I don't get to be with her the way I want to be._

He allowed himself to drift for a bit and enjoy the closeness, but as the minutes ticked by he returned his focus to the matter at hand and gave her another nudge. "Much as I really don't want to, I need to get up," he whispered. She just dissolved even more – if that was possible – and burrowed her head into his shoulder. "Uh uh," was all he got from her, "You're so warm… I'm not moving." He could picture a lazy Saturday morning in bed with her this way and it made the bulge in his pants feel even more constricted. He hadn't pegged her as a snuggler, and this was a pleasant surprise; however, it made things more difficult when a workday loomed ahead.

"Did you sleep?" she murmured as she began to surface.

"Yeah, actually, I did. Thanks for letting me stay."

"Don't mention it," she yawned. "What time is it?" He checked again. "6:40."

"Ummm, plenty of time. Go back to sleep."

"Maybe you can do without a cup of coffee and a shower, but I've gotten used to the good things in life since I got back. Come on. Up." He gave her rear end a playful swat.

"Ow! Ok! Geez, you maniac!" She moved into a sitting position. As he extricated himself she gave him a sidelong glance. He was looking rumpled and very, very sexy. "I'll go put some coffee on. You want to use my shower?" _You want me to join you?_

"Yes on the coffee, no on the shower. I keep a change of clothes in my locker. I'll just head over early and take care of it there. Got an extra toothbrush?"

"Nope, sorry."

"That's ok. I've managed in worse places than this. Can I borrow some toothpaste?"

"Uh, you can HAVE some. I don't really want it back once you've used it." He shot her an appreciative look and followed her to the bathroom.

Once they had both taken care of the basics and were helping themselves to a cup of coffee, Cristina decided to broach something from the other night. "You know how you said you were getting stuck just taking the steps to get you to that cemetery and do that thing you need to do?" she asked.

"Yeah," he waited for her to continue.

"I was thinking maybe I could help you… I mean, those things you mentioned… those are just details. I'm good with details. Maybe you need to focus on the big picture and let someone else handle the small stuff."

"What'd you have in mind?" It hadn't occurred to him to ask for help, but her offer intrigued him.

"Give me your camera. Let me print that photo out for you. And let me do the mapquest thing. I could even drive you over if you want. I don't know if this is something you feel you have to do by yourself, but if it's not, I'd like to help."

"Huh… It hadn't occurred to me, but you might be right. Let me mull it over, ok?" He was touched that she would even think of this. "I'll get back to you." He picked his jacket up off the floor and was putting it on when Callie stepped out of her room, bleary-eyed and in her robe. "Oh, uh, hi… Dr. Hunt" she stammered as she headed for the coffeemaker, "This is… awkward…"

He laughed and exchanged a private glance with Cristina. "Yes… yes it is, Dr. Torres." He nodded his goodbye and headed out. As soon as the door shut behind him, Callie looked at Cristina and fanned herself with her hand. "Whew! You owe me big time, girlfriend. I've been keeping score here. Working backwards from right now, that's ONE intensely awkward moment, ONE incident of extreme mortification, and a foreplay evesdrop/overhear. My superior knowledge of Roommate Etiquette dictates that you are absolutely required to tell me every single detail now."

Cristina eyed her warily and with more than a little exasperation. "Ok, you're right. You deserve all the sordid details. Are you ready?" Callie nodded. "Are you sure, because this is BIG. You might want to write this down. Do you need a pen?"

"Yang…" Callie protested.

"Ok, here goes… WE HAVEN'T GOTTEN PAST FIRST BASE YET!"

Callie's mouth dropped open. "You're shitting me, right?"

"I wish."

"This makes no sense. He's obviously got the extreme hots for you. Is he like some kind of religious freak or something?"

"Well, if SOMEONE hadn't walked in on us last night, I think we might have hit at least a double…"

"Hey," Callie held up a warning finger, "you have a bedroom. No way you're pinning this on me. There's got to be more to this story, right? What's the deal?"

Cristina jumped up and headed for her room. "Gotta go! See you at work!"

"But…" Callie called out. She was totally intrigued now. "You are SO not getting away with this, Yang."


	11. Decision

Thinking time in the shower was a luxury Owen thought he would probably never take for granted again. Too many days with no shower at all, or a 60 second one at best, had developed in him a keen appreciation for one of life's most underrated pleasures. Standing under a steaming hot spray in the men's shower at Seattle Grace, Owen considered Cristina's offer of assistance. The fact that she would want to do this for him touched him deeply. In his military life, there were several people who would go all the way to the mat for him, and he for them. _Had been_, he reminded himself with a pang of sadness. _Past tense. Gone now._ If he was honest with himself, he'd never had that kind of "lean on me" bond with a civilian that came so naturally with the intensity of combat training and wartime. It was much easier to **not** depend on people as a sure-fire way to avoid disappointment. Civilians, as a whole, had not tended to measure up when put to the test - it was one of the tough truths about re-entry. _Perhaps it's time I let someone in… No, not just someone_… he reminded himself. _Cristina. _

The truth was that just voicing the logistical difficulty he was having had dissipated much of the energy attached to it. He was pretty sure he could handle the details himself at this point, but there was something about having her be a part of this exercise that appealed to him. Or, to put it another way, there was nothing about doing this alone that was in any way appealing when he had Cristina ready to back him up. On the other hand, what if things got messy? He had no way of knowing what would shake out once he got there. Did he really want her to see him fall apart?

As he toweled himself dry and got dressed for work, he decided to take a risk and err on the side of connection. The homeless guy they had lost, Timothy, had said he'd reached a point where he just couldn't connect. Owen had been replaying that conversation in his mind at least once a day since, and it never failed to resonate. While he was relatively sure he would never end up on the streets like Timothy, he was not so sanguine about his chances of living a healthy emotional life in the aftermath of all he had lost.

Owen Hunt was a man who had taken his life in his hands on more than one occasion, and come out the other side. Risk was something he happened to know a thing or two about. All things considered, this one seemed to be well worth taking.

---------------------------

Though Cristina was on his service, he didn't have a chance to speak to her again until that afternoon, when they happened to meet alone in the ambulance bay with a trauma about 5 minutes out. By that time Owen had already taken the opportunity to ask the Chief for personal time the following afternoon, and to arrange for Cristina to be allowed off as well. Though he had clearly been curious, it was also evident that the Chief was slightly in awe of Owen due to his glowing references and the very fact of his extensive and distinguished service to his country. It probably didn't hurt that he had already developed a reputation for working several days straight without a break, thus creating a relatively large stockpile of professional credit. This was one Attending who could be counted on to put the job first – a refreshing anomaly in the sometimes shockingly unprofessional world of Seattle Grace. In any event, Owen's claim that he had personal business relating to his military service, and that Cristina was providing logistical help, had proven to be enough to forestall any further prying.

As they waited for the sound of the approaching rig, Owen reached in his pocket and handed Cristina a little plastic case. She looked at him questioningly. "Memory card, from my camera. Group shot… humvee… dog… You'll know it when you see it." He had run home during a brief lunch break to retrieve it, not wanting to waste any time now that his mind was made up. She turned it over in her hand with some reverence, realizing the import of him handing this over to her. _He's going to let me help_, she thought. _He's trusting me with this piece of it. _

"I got us both a few hours off tomorrow afternoon. I hope you don't mind that I just went ahead and did it without asking you. It was sort of a… a now or never moment and I just went with it," he explained.

"No, no… it's fine. Did the Chief…?"

"The Chief was great. Don't worry."

"But… don't you think it looks a little suspicious for you to ask for time off for me, too?" She was already envisioning all the ways in which this would be another nail in the coffin she seemed to be inadvertently constructing for herself where the Chief was concerned.

"Maybe if it had been someone besides me asking, but I think he trusts me to be one of the few grownups in this frat house."

"Uh, ok… Anything else you want me to do?"

"Yeah. Get me a map to the Tahoma Cemetery, and let me go change at your place after work. I'd rather not have to go home first."

She paused a moment, not wanting to assume anything. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Cristina, I got time off for you, too. I wasn't expecting you to spend it waiting around in your apartment."

She suddenly felt a flood of appreciation over the realization that he was going to actually let her play a substantial part in something that was clearly challenging for him – not as a crutch, but as a valued partner. _Once again, the Anti-Burke,_ she thought.

"Ok, " she said.

"Ok." He looked her in the eye for a moment until the sound of the siren broke the spell, and they both directed their attention to the approaching ambulance.


	12. The Night Before

**A/N: I have revised this chapter, changing the order of the segments, and tweaking a few words in the second to last paragraph. Hopefully this will read a little better and be more congruent with the characters. ****Thanks to eTara and Rachel2008 for some really great constructive comments!  
**

---------------------------

Owen's memory card had burned a hole in Cristina's pocket throughout the remainder of her shift, and she couldn't wait to get home and take a look. She felt guilty for wanting to pry, but was so intensely curious she could barely contain herself. When she finally got home she went straight to her room, and now she sat cross-legged on her bed with her laptop, carefully perusing the photos from Owen's camera. The group shot he had referred to was toward the end of the roll, which made sense given the sequence of events he had described to her. There were also a bunch of shots of his base, a couple of blurry photos of a dog, and a good assortment of people shots – fellow doctors, medics, nurses, a few enlisted people. One shot of Owen with his arm around the shoulder of another soldier seemed to cry out _Best Friend!_ The look on Owen's face was so full of brotherly affection that it nearly took her breath away, and she spent some time examining the other man. He was tanned, good-looking, and had a kind expression in his eyes. The hand he was playfully aiming at Owen's jaw bore a wedding ring.

The group shot, though… the group shot just about blew her away. Cristina took her time going over it in detail. Twenty people, mostly men but a few women, all in desert fatigues, posing in front of a Humvee. The same dog from the earlier part of the roll was lying down in the dirt in the foreground. Someone must have cracked a joke just before the picture was taken, because everyone was laughing. Owen stood slightly left of center, hand on the shoulder of the same guy from the previous photo, elbow crooked around the neck of another in playful roughhousing. Not that she knew anything much about the military, but even to her untrained eye this had the look of a longstanding, cohesive group - a unit one returned to the sandpit for, rather than taking a cushy job offer at a nice hospital in Seattle. _No wonder he went back._ Recalling the day they had first met in the context of this photo, all of the missing pieces now fell into place for Cristina.

And they were all dead now… all except Owen. It was devastating to imagine this was possible, and sobering to think that but for a miracle, Owen could have been another casualty: that hot guy who breezed in, kissed her unexpectedly, and returned stateside in a box. She would never have known what happened to him, and would probably always have wondered. Seeing the vitality and connection that fairly exuded from the photo, it seemed completely inconceivable that all of these people were gone. Now she felt she understood Owen's resistance to revisiting this photo, and his willingness to hand this task off to her. It did not escape her that he had entrusted her with something incredibly precious.

_Omigod,_ she thought. _This is huge. This is fucking enormous._ A sense of hopelessness settled in on her as she realized the magnitude of the hurdle their relationship was facing. _No wonder he doesn't want to get too close..._

Scanning through the whole card again, she was struck by the difference in the Owen Hunt in these pictures and the one she was currently dating – _if you could even call it dating at this point_. In every photo, there was that smile – that cocky, smartass smile that had drawn her like a magnet the first day she met him. He was clearly into the adventure, loving life, taking chances… While she had seen him smile a number of times since his return from Iraq, she had caught only small glimpses of that particular smile since that first day. Now she knew where he had lost it – and she desperately wanted it back, for his sake as much as for hers.

She printed out the photo, shut down the computer, and got ready for bed - daring to hope that tomorrow would move him one step forward on the path to a new beginning.

------

By the time Owen arrived home, he was a mess of nervous energy. The uneasy feelings had started to percolate in his gut as soon as he'd made the decision that tomorrow was going to be his cemetery day. They had developed momentum after he handed over the memory card to Cristina, and had reached a crescendo when he nastily chewed out an intern for a mistake that even a seasoned resident might make. Whoever-she-was had scurried away in tears. He was angry at himself for losing it, but had not sought her out or apologized; she was small potatoes in a much bigger picture. Besides, this was not the first time he had felt his anger leaking out sideways, and it probably wouldn't be the last. He left work with the intention of holing up in his apartment until the feeling passed.

But it didn't pass, and as the evening wore on things only got worse. He tried to distract himself with the TV, but turned it off in frustration a few minutes later. He felt like the little boy with his finger in the dike in that old story, trying desperately to keep the flood at bay – only the dike was now the size of the Hoover Dam, and more cracks were splitting off from that one hole until the whole thing threatened to burst. _I really want to hit something right now_, he thought. _Or stomp it to a pulp._ _No…, I want to punch a hole in the wall… _The anger welled up inside him as the cracks widened_. Actually,_ he realized,_ what I want to do is __**FUCK**__ something…just **FUCK** it really hard until I'm completely spent. _The idea of ramming himself with no consideration or finesse into some willing subject seemed to offer the only semblance of relief he could conjure up. Cristina immediately came to mind, and he recoiled at the thought. This was what he was afraid would happen between them if he wasn't careful. He pictured himself in the alley outside Joe's, this time not breaking off contact, but continuing where a dark and shadowy piece of him had wanted to go that night – ripping off her clothes, ramming her right into the wall… _A disaster…_ _This would be a disaster._ Whatever sweetness could be derived from her willing softness would be trampled under the force of this unrelenting despair. He would destroy not only himself but her in the process, and he would regret it for the rest of his life. Thank God, that night, he had come to his senses in time.

_Shit,_ he shook his head, _I'm really, really fucked up._ His anger had been on a slow simmer since he had come back from Iraq, but things were reaching a whole new level tonight. He instinctively knew it must be connected with his plans for the next day, but knowing that intellectually didn't make any of it go away. _The gym_, he thought, _I'll go work this off at the gym._ Without giving himself a chance to overthink it, he grabbed his gym bag and keys, and headed out the door.

---------


	13. Departure

Owen was much more composed when he arrived at work the next morning. He had pushed himself to the limit at the gym and managed to leave some of his nervous energy, along with several gallons of sweat, on the stair climber and then the treadmill. Without anyone around at that late hour to spot him, however, his intention to bench press himself into oblivion was thwarted. He was so desperate for the exertion that he was tempted to do it anyway, but even in his current state he drew the line at potentially ending up in his own trauma room with a crush injury. Instead, he did push ups until he lost count and finally fell to the floor. Nothing less than complete and utter exhaustion would do, and in spite of this when he arrived home he still found sleep elusive and was only able to doze fitfully till the morning.

_People seem to be staying out of my way today_, he noticed, and wondered if word had spread since yesterday's altercation with the intern: Steer clear of Dr. Hunt. When he was in his right mind he got a real charge out of teaching the interns and residents - even if his methods were often unorthodox - and he really didn't want them to be afraid of him. He vowed to contain himself better today, and managed to push his anxiety about the impending afternoon's events out of his mind for the most part. When his left his shift early at 2:00, he headed to Cristina's and waited on the stoop for her to arrive. Finally, at 2:15, he saw her leave the hospital and cross the street toward him.

He picked up his small duffle and stood as she approached. He looked tense and tired, and seemed to have trouble meeting her gaze. "Hey."

She nodded. "Hey. Sorry I'm late. Dixon insisted on giving me the entire timeline for the history of heart transplant surgery in America, including names, dates, and numbers of transplants performed…"

He smiled. "Did you learn anything?"

"Nothing I didn't already know or will ever need to know…" she smiled back, "but it paid off. She invited me to scrub in tomorrow on a pretty complicated case, so I'm stoked." He followed her in as she unlocked the downstairs door and started up the stairs. "She's really not so bad," Cristina added.

"Huh?... What do you mean?" Owen was preoccupied and had lost the thread of the conversation already.

"The Asperger's thing. It just takes some getting used to. I kind of like it in a way. I don't have to worry about hidden motives or double meanings with her. She says exactly what she's thinking. It's all totally up front, even if it is offensive sometimes. It's kind of refreshing…" She was chattering and she knew it, but it helped a little to dispel the tension. "I mean, she rambles on about stuff, but so does everyone if you think about it…" She opened her door and stepped inside. "But you didn't come over here to talk about Dr. Dixon."

"No, I didn't come over here to talk about Dr. Dixon…" He followed her in, and there was an awkward silence. "Can I change in there?" He nodded towards her bedroom.

"Go ahead. It's kind of a mess…" He nodded and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

-------

When he emerged a few minutes later, Cristina did a double take and caught her breath. She hadn't realized that when he said "change" he meant _into uniform._ And there was definitely something about a man in uniform, especially THIS man in uniform… Seeing him in his desert camo gear brought her back to the first time she'd laid eyes on him, and that memory carried with it a pang of longing for the relatively carefree and very cocky Owen he had been that day. "Um… why…?" She gestured to his outfit.

"The shrink suggested it. I'm just following the prescription." He looked uneasy.

"Ok, let me get the stuff you wanted, and we can go. D'you want me to drive?"

"I'll drive, you navigate."

"Ok." She moved past him into her room and grabbed the photo and the map from her desk. "Let's go."


	14. The Dam Breaks

It was a beautiful drive, and the half hour went quickly. When they spotted the yellow-lettered concrete sign that said, "Tahoma National Cemetery" they pulled into the driveway and through the stone gateposts. They were greeted with a sea of tall trees, luxurious green lawns, and a spectacular view of Mt. Rainier. Were it not for the signage and the neat rows of headstones, it would be easy to mistake this place for a park.

They pulled into a space near the visitor center and headed toward the large grassy median that ran the length of the property, first passing a memorial circle with a large flagpole, some benches, and low concrete posts that reminded Cristina of giant grey candy corn. They walked down the long asphalt roadway toward an area filled with row upon row of grave markers. Owen had seemed calm when they exited the car and had taken Cristina's hand gently. Now, as they approached the first expanse of headstones, the only indication of his discomfort was that his grip tightened and he began to crush her fingers. She squeezed back hard to get his attention.

"I think I'm going to be needing that for surgery tomorrow," she nodded toward her hand.

"Oh." A brief and nervous smile flitted across his face. "Sorry." He loosened his grip but did not let go.

Owen led her off the paved road and onto the grass. They walked between row after row of graves, arrayed in military precision and fanning out in all directions. Cristina was struck with how lovely the place was, and how the majestic presence of the mountain gave it a feeling of sacredness that even a nonbeliever like herself could appreciate. Some of the graves bore fresh flowers, while others had small flags planted in front of the marker. Still others were bare, with only the headstone and inscription. There were a few other people around, mostly clustered around particular graves, with the only exception being a larger group gathered beyond the next stand of trees for what must be a funeral in progress. Owen was silent and pensive, and though she had gotten pretty good at reading him over the past few weeks, now she was drawing a blank. As his grip began to tighten again, Cristina placed her other hand on his and rubbed gently to get him to lighten up without having to say anything. She didn't know much about supporting someone at a time like this and thought it best to keep her mouth shut and simply be there without intruding.

"I… I'm not sure where I need to be" Owen was scanning around as they walked, "… but that bench over there looks as good as anyplace else." His voice sounded confused and anxious. They headed over and sat down. He released her hand and ran his own over his face a couple of times. "It's almost too pretty here," he finally said with some exasperation. "I'm not feeling much of any…"

_**CRACK**__!_........._**CRACK**__!_........._**CRACK**__!_

His thought was interrupted by the sharp report of a gun salute from the funeral in progress nearby. Owen shifted in his seat uneasily and let his sentence go unfinished as the sound of rifles echoed and died out. He let out a long breath.

Feeling the moment was as right as it was ever going to be, Cristina reached into her bag to remove the enlargement she had made for him. Without saying a word, she gently placed it in his lap. He looked down at it silently, and she could hear his breathing begin to go ragged. _What do I do now? Do I put my arm around him? Pat his back? Sit here? I have no clue._ Owen solved her dilemma for her when, in a hoarse and agitated voice, he finally said, "I need you to go take a walk now."

She rose silently and began to walk away. _I'm not going to take that personally_, she thought. _This is not about me. None of this is about me. I would be a really selfish, stupid jerk if I made this about me._ She headed away from him at an angle that took her off to the side, out of his line of sight but where she could still keep an eye on him. There was no bench nearby, so she sat down on the grass in the shade of an evergreen. She wanted to give him the space he needed but felt it unwise to absent herself entirely. _No telling what might happen._

------

Owen was feeling impatient with himself and pissed at the shrink. From the instant they had gotten out of the car he had felt something pushing at him, but he had pushed back equally hard and was managing to keep himself under control. The cracks in the dam were bulging again, but no way was he going to let that sucker pop. He looked around at the flag, the graves, the scenery, and felt only anger and resistance come up. _Shit, I'm hopeless. This is not gonna work. Maybe it's a good idea for other people, but not for me._ He was thinking about giving up on the whole endeavor when the gun salute rang out in the silence: seven rifles, three rounds - the traditional military sendoff. At the sound, his stomach clenched as if he was on an elevator and the cable had just snapped. Then Cristina – damn her timing - handed him the photo, and he started to feel a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

He had sent her away. He hoped she understood.

_Get a grip._ Owen struggled to get back his composure. The shrink had said to let whatever came up come up, but pushing it back down was all he knew how to do. He wrestled with it for a while and realized he was squeezing his eyes shut, not looking at the picture in his hands. He concentrated on his breathing and tried to calm himself down. Even though he knew Cristina was somewhere nearby, Owen had never felt so utterly and completely alone. She was great, terrific even, but she couldn't possibly understand what he was going through, and having her sit there with him had just felt wrong. She had never been in the military. No civilian could truly get it. The people he would have leaned on in this situation were the ones he was here to mourn. _Ironic_. _How ironic._ He had no choice. He was in it now and would have to do this alone.

He was so focused on trying to regain control of himself that, at first, he barely noticed the firm touch of a hand on his shoulder. _Shit, Cristina, not yet. I'm not ready for you yet._ He opened his eyes, ready to send her away again, and turned to find himself looking not at Cristina, but into the intelligent grey eyes of an elderly man with a flag lapel pin, who had sat down beside him on the bench. _World War II vet_, Owen could tell immediately_. Officer. _ The lack of a uniform did nothing to dispel that impression._ What is he doing here? _Owen looked into the man's eyes questioningly. He felt the unspoken connection of shared experience, and nodded slightly to acknowledge it.

"Who are you here for, Major?" the man nodded toward the photo.

Owen held his gaze for another long moment before looking down at the picture and really seeing it for the first time. Images began to flood his head in short visual flashes. Those faces…the laughter… the intense highs and lows… the down time they had all spent together… He could see their expressions, hear their voices, and remember what it felt like to be enveloped in their camaraderie. Interspersed with these fond memories were the moments when it was all going down... when he saw them dying around him... not being able to save a single one of them. He couldn't bring himself to answer the question at first, but finally he found his voice and in a hoarse whisper he replied, "All of them."

"Oh," it came out with a groan of sympathy. It was clear from his reaction that he had expected Owen to point out an individual, not the entire unit. The devastation of losing so many people at once was echoed in his eyes, where Owen read compassion, empathy, and most importantly, complete understanding. _This guy, whoever he is… he gets it, _he thought. _I'm not all by myself with this. _With this realization, the dam he had been working so hard to hold back cracked wide open with a visceral jolt. An immense and unbearable sadness welled up inside him and surged like bile in his throat. He covered his face with his hands and felt like he was going to vomit, but instead a sound of pure anguish rose up out of his gut and escaped from him in a paroxysm of labored breath. It was followed by another, and then another, until he gave up the last vestiges of his self control and lost all sense of time and space. His body seemed to have taken on a life of its own, choking out ragged sobs of desperation and misery. All the while, the hand on his shoulder maintained a steady grip, anchoring him to the present and allowing him to roll on wave after wave of grief so fathomless he could never have navigated it on his own.

------

Cristina was sitting cross-legged on the ground, pulling up individual blades of grass and peeling them into small strips, all the while keeping an eye on Owen from a distance. She saw the funeral break up down the road, and a few cars from the processional starting and driving away. Some of the mourners were heading on foot toward the entrance. Owen seemed oblivious to all this and was sitting hunched over on the bench, exactly as she had left him.

Shivering slightly from the chill of the fading afternoon, she continued her small labors over the grass. She was just beginning to wonder if this was all that was going to happen today when an elderly man split off from the group of walkers and headed toward Owen. He looked to be about 80 or so, but carried himself with a distinction and a vitality that made him appear ageless. To her surprise, he sat down next to Owen and placed a hand on his shoulder. They seemed to speak for a couple of minutes, and then Cristina was frozen in place by an anguished sound unlike anything she had ever heard before. _Owen. _ It was coming from Owen. It defied description but felt to her like a jagged and rusty knife was being rammed directly into her heart. She came to her feet instantly, tears springing to her eyes, and stifled the urge to run over and wrap her arms around him. _Not yet. This is not my part yet._ The sounds were continuing, and it was clear that he was in the midst of something deep and profound with this stranger - something in which she should not interfere.

A slight wind had kicked up and clouds were moving in. She hugged herself tightly against the chill and waited.

------

Owen was unable to determine whether an eternity had gone by, or just a few minutes. He had never lost track of himself so completely before. On the battlefield, time seemed to take on another dimension, speeding up or slowing down based on the level of adrenaline in his system. This was different. He felt like he had been swept down the drain by a tidal wave and was only now beginning to surface.

The man who had been the catalyst was gone. He had a vague recollection of thanking him and embracing him briefly, but he wasn't sure if that had really happened or if he had just intended to do it. The photo was sitting in the grass at his feet, apparently having fallen there at some point. The only indication he had of the passage of time was that the sun was setting. He had been there a while.

He felt empty and utterly drained, purged of the nervous tension and anger he had been holding inside for so long. A sense of lightness and relief flooded his system; not quite pleasure but at least the absence of pain. He was numb, and that was not a bad way to be right now.

Whatever he had come here to do today, he had done it. Now it was time to find Cristina and go home. He picked up the photo, rose, and spotted her sitting with her knees tucked up under her chin, huddled under a tree a short distance away. _She's probably freezing. _ Owen walked over to her, offered his hand, and pulled her up. Her fingers were ice cold. He could tell by her expression that she was full of questions, but she said nothing and neither did he. He opened his coat and tucked her inside it with him, and she slid both her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly. Then, with her still wrapped inside his coat and his arm around her shoulders, they made their way slowly back to the car.


	15. The Aftermath

When they arrived at the car, Owen handed Cristina his keys without a word, then got into the passenger seat. The silence wasn't awkward; words just weren't necessary. Talking about what had happened seemed a violation of something intangible that they would be better off mulling over alone. Besides, his eyes spoke volumes. He looked drained and exhausted, but gone was the wired and tense energy he had carried with him on the way over. Once inside the car, he leaned his seat back slightly and closed his eyes for the duration of the ride back to her apartment. The fact that he didn't feel a need to speak or explain anything felt like a good thing to Cristina, and the time passed in comfortable silence.

She pulled up to the curb outside her apartment. ""You're coming in." It wasn't a request. _No way I'm letting him go off by himself tonight. _

"Yeah, I am." He got out of the car.

"Are you starving? Because I'm starving. I'll order in." She led the way upstairs.

"Yeah, I am," he said again, "but I'm not sure if I can eat…if that makes any sense. Go ahead. Get whatever you want and I'll probably have something. I need to get out of this uniform first, though." She raised an eyebrow at that, and he gave her a tired little smile as he headed into her room to change. She figured nothing was likely to happen tonight, but it was nice to get some of the banter back after such an intense afternoon.

A little while later, after ordering Chinese from the takeout place down the street and pouring two glasses of red wine, Cristina saw Owen emerge from the bedroom. He was back in civilian clothes – jeans and a dark grey T. His hair and goatee were slightly damp, as if he had dunked his head under the faucet. He looked exhausted… and sexy as hell_. Patience, Cristina,_ she admonished herself. She patted the bar stool next to her and handed him a glass of wine as he sat down.

"Ok if I crash here tonight?"

"Of course." She was relieved. _As if I was going to let you go home alone…_

"Good." He downed his whole glass of wine in a few swallows.

"Uh, wow... You want a refill, or should I just give you the bottle?"

"Sorry…" he smiled sheepishly, "I needed that." The warm glow from the wine was already beginning to seep into his system. "Refill, please. And I guess I'll be having that food after all."

The doorbell rang.

"Let me get this, " Owen got up and pulled out his wallet. "I owe you one."

------

Cristina sipped her wine and watched Owen put away most of the rest of the bottle during dinner, but the only effect she noticed is that he seemed to get more and more relaxed. _Relaxed is good_, she thought. _I've never seen him relaxed._

He helped clear the dinner debris and then turned to her. "Listen, I need to crash… more than I've needed to in a long time, and the couch was… entertaining," he raised an eyebrow, "but any chance I could use the bed tonight?"

"Uh, yeah… sure. No problem. Callie should be back soon anyhow."

"Let's go in, then. I can't deal with more people tonight."

"Um, you sure you want me in there? I mean, if you need some privacy… "

He smiled at her as if she had said something completely crazy, "Yeah, I'm sure… C'mere."

"What?" she looked at him suspiciously.

"Come on..." he gestured her over. She stepped closer and he linked his hands around the back of her neck and looked her in the eye. "Thank you."

"No big deal. It's just a little takeout, and you paid for it anyway…"

"No," he kissed her very gently, then leaned back and met her startled gaze with his intense blue one, "**Thank** you. Not for the wine. Not for the food. Not for the bed… For today. For everything." She felt herself sink into the depths of his blue eyes, and it took her a moment to realize he was still talking. "I've been wondering all evening if I should find a way to just take you to bed tonight…" he continued. "I've never actually slept with a woman without _sleeping_ with her, and here we are on our way to doing it again…"

"It's ok… I wasn't… " Cristina interrupted.

"Shut up." He gave her another brief kiss. He tasted of red wine and soy sauce. "I've got something I need to say… and I need you to just let me say it." He paused for a minute and then continued. "No woman has ever done something for me like what you did for me today. That had to be very hard for you… You hardly know me, really, and you got right in the trench with me. You didn't get pissed at me when I asked you to give me some space. You just stuck around and waited… I value that more than I can probably ever express to you… You've been doing all the giving and I've just been taking what I need, and I want you to know I really appreciate it."

"It's nothing, really. I…"

"I thought I told you to shut up, Dr. Yang," he smiled and kissed her again, this time a little longer and deeper. Cristina was doing her best to keep her hands to herself, but her resistance was flagging. She laid a hand on his chest and leaned into the kiss.

Owen broke it off and leaned his forehead against hers. "Stop. Stop... Listen. There's plenty more I could take from you tonight, but not a damn thing I have to give you right now. There's a big empty hole in my gut and I'm feeling numb and… I could do it… I could definitely do it. Part of me really **wants** to do it. If it was anybody else, I probably **would** do it… and… I can't bring myself to take one more thing from you tonight without giving something back. That's not how I want it to be when we finally… get together… and trust me when I say I have nothing to give back right now."

Cristina pulled away. "I've got an early surgery anyhow, so I'd better get some sleep too." _No use in making him feel bad_, she thought. His mind was clearly made up, and if she was honest with herself, he was making sense. She wanted him fully present and accounted for when they... got together.

The sound of a key turning in the lock impelled both of them to bolt for her room and shut the door. Once inside, she turned to him, " Are you on tomorrow?"

He shook his head. "Off tomorrow, on call tomorrow night. I have an appointment before I go in… " he hesitated before continuing," …with the shrink."

"Good. That's good, right?"

"Yeah, I think that's good. We'll see."

------

Owen slept like a dead man – and that was definitely a good thing… better than good. It was a fantastic, almost unbelievable gift, and he felt like weeping with relief over the miracle of a single dreamless stretch of over 8 hours. He had begun to believe he would never have that experience again. When he awakened fully, he realized that Cristina was already gone. The clock read 8:30am.

He smiled as he recalled the way she had backed up against him a bit shyly once they were in bed. She was a heat-seeker with shockingly cold feet, and he was happy to share his excess warmth with her. He had turned on his side and draped his arm over her, entwining his fingers with hers, his head buried in her hair, and they had both fallen asleep like that. Now he turned on his side and inhaled the magic of her scent from her pillow... and made himself a promise:

_The next time we hit these sheets, there's going to be some action.  
_


	16. Hard versus Impossible

"Sounds like you had a very productive day, Major."

Owen nodded in affirmation. He had just spent the past 15 minutes telling Lt. Col. Anders about his experience at the cemetery. It was not an easy thing to speak about, and Owen felt almost as if he were giving something away that should stay locked in his head for a while longer, but he was anxious to move forward and this seemed his best shot. The psychiatrist had listened intently, without interruption, until this point.

"So how are you feeling?" he inquired gently. "You certainly look better than when I saw you last."

"I actually slept last night. That's probably why. But yes, I do feel better… a lot less tense… the anger's really fizzled out..."

Anders smiled. "I would imagine that's a relief…"

"Yeah, it is. What I don't get, though, is why I was so angry if it was actually grief I was dealing with. They don't strike me as the same at all."

"Good question, and no, they're not the same." Anders replied. He was enjoying Owen's intellectual curiosity. It was a good day when the schedule dealt him a smart and inquisitive patient like this one. It gave him license to explain things more fully, and he found that if they could be made to understand the mechanics behind their problems, patients would often require less intervention from him. "Grief is really all about sadness, and that's one emotion men in particular have a lot of trouble with. It's easier for us to get angry and punch something than it is to admit to sadness. Sadness is for girls. Tears are for girls. That's why we have a lot of domestic abuse and road rage out there. Anger is the default for men who are feeling any of the more uncomfortable emotions, like sadness, or fear, or even shame. It's more socially acceptable, and it's easier for us to connect with."

"I guess that makes sense, in a twisted sort of way…" Owen nodded pensively.

"Most of the guys who come in to see me are angry, and that rarely turns out to be the real issue once we dig a little deeper. It's a cover-up for emotions that we, as men, just don't feel comfortable with. Women tend to be much better at this kind of thing than we are."

Owen nodded.

Anders changed the subject abruptly, catching Owen off guard. "What about sex?"

"Excuse me?" The intrusiveness of the question took him aback for a moment.

"Sex. Are you having any?"

"Uh, not right now…" _Is this any of your business?_

"Why not?"

Owen was starting to feel defensive. "Well, the relationship I'm in is pretty new… and we haven't really gotten there yet…" _God, that sounds lame._

Anders just stared at him. "Why **not**, Major?"

"It's complicated…"

"No, it's not. It's not complicated at all. And I'm not asking you this because I'm a nosy SOB. I bring it up because it's important, and it's an area where men in your situation frequently have issues. You're in a relationship. The woman sounds pretty terrific, from what you just told me about your day yesterday. You don't strike me as a shy kind of guy. So why aren't you two having sex?"

_I don't really want to answer this question._ _Shit._ "I guess I've been scared."

"Of what?"

Owen took a deep breath. "Isn't it kind of obvious? Scared of fucking it up… scared I would unleash all of this crap on her and chase her away… scared I would hurt her. I wanted to work all this stuff out before we got to that point…"

Anders sat forward in his chair, as if he was sharing a secret, "Well, that's very admirable, Major… but if you're waiting to work it all out before having sex with her, you might as well slice your pecker off right now. This isn't a process that you're ever going to be done with. You'll learn to live with it, and you'll move on, but you'll always be affected by what happened. It's unrealistic to believe otherwise."

Owen looked at him a little incredulously. "So your professional opinion is that I should go have sex with my girlfriend?"

"I don't know. Do you want to? Are you using this as an excuse to avoid it? I can't answer those questions. Only you can. But if you do want to, I'd suggest you not let this stand in your way anymore. All that testosterone circulating without an escape hatch – that's only going to make things worse."

Owen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was starting to see the point of this tangent. "I guess I've been waiting to get this part over, and then I just felt so empty afterward. I still do. It's like I've let go of a lot of shit, but there's just this gaping hole in my gut now. I feel like I've got nothing to offer…"

Anders interrupted. "Ok... so this leads us to the hard part."

"What do you mean, the hard part? I thought I just did the hard part yesterday." Owen was getting a little exasperated.

"No, Major, that wasn't the hard part. That was the **impossible** part. And you did that… you did that. You stepped through the minefield and now you're on the other side." He paused to catch Owen's eye and acknowledge him. "That was good. There are guys who never make it that far because it's so fucking impossible to do. You almost didn't make it yourself. If it hadn't been for that guy who sat down with you, do you think you would have felt safe enough to walk through that?"

Owen thought for a moment, recalling how resistant he had been when he'd been sitting on that bench alone, how he'd been ready to give up and walk away. "Probably not," he admitted.

"That's because he gave you permission. I know that sounds simplistic, but sometimes the simple things make the most sense. He made it ok to do what you had to do. For the ones who lose a guy or two in their unit, they have their other buddies to lean on and they all make it ok for each other when it comes to this part. But you were alone with this. For people like you… well, most aren't so lucky to have someone just show up for them at the right moment like that."

Owen nodded. "I hadn't really thought of it that way…"

"So look, Major, I said this was the hard part, and here's why. The big question is, what are you going to do now? Lots of guys, once they do their grieving, have a hard time feeling they deserve to move forward, to have a real life, to be professionally or personally successful. It's like they carry the weight of their dead buddies on their shoulders and aren't supposed to be allowed to lift their heads up and see a future for themselves. They bury a part of themselves in the grave with the ones they lost. And you lost a lot of people in one go – more than most. So this is really big in your case."

Owen nodded his understanding. He had to hand it to Anders. He was good at making concrete sense of some pretty abstract concepts.

"It all boils down to simple physics," Anders continued. "That grief you were holding on to… it took up a lot of room. It was a huge burden, but you were used to having it, and in some strange way the familiarity was comforting. I know that sounds bizarre, but think about it for a second. Am I right?"

"Yeah," Owen reflected. "It makes sense when you put it that way."

"Good... Ok... So when you let it go, it creates a big gaping hole. And there are guys out there who just dive right into that hole and never come out…" He waited for a beat before continuing, "Trust me, you don't want to be one of those guys."

"No, I don't," Owen agreed. "So what's the alternative?"

"Like I said… simple physics, Major. Nature abhors a vacuum. If you have a big hole, you need to fill it up with something or it will suck you in. You can either allow it to consume you, or you can start to fill it with the things and people that make you happy. It's up to you… You can see this as a huge chore, maybe give up on it or put it off - or you can label it an opportunity and get moving." He paused and made sure Owen was looking at him before he continued. "This, right here," he made a ball with his hands, "is the crux, and it's where a lot of people fall down and never get up. This is where you get to make a decision that will probably impact the rest of your life."

"And what decision is that?" Owen asked.

"Fill it up… or let it swallow you."

-----

As Owen drove to work from the VA, he reflected on what the shrink had told him. _Fill it up, or let it swallow you… fill it with the things and people that make you happy… there are guys out there who dive right into that hole and never come out…_ _You don't want to be one of those guys…_

No, he didn't want to be one of those guys.

The hole was real. Anders had certainly gotten that part right. The hard part was shifting gears and figuring out what to put in it. _The things and people that make you happy, _he had said. Thinking about happiness seemed such a foreign concept after what he'd been through.

_What makes me happy? _

_**Work , especially teaching….**_ That came to mind immediately._ I know I'm good at what I do. I work hard to find creative ways to teach the interns and residents what I know… and when they get it, like with those pigs in the skills lab, I feel like I made a difference…_

…_**and learning…**__ even when I have to eat shit from assholes like Shepard and Sloan, I do enjoy adding to my knowledge and integrating new information..._

_**...using my skills … fixing people up… saving lives**__…_That definitely belonged on the list._ Having a patient look to me for help, and being able to provide that…I can't fix them all, but when I can, it's a thrill…_

_**Cristina**__…_ Where did she fit in here?

_My girlfriend_. He had used those words at some point during the session, and that had felt comfortable and right. When had she gotten to be his girlfriend? The relationship felt so new in some ways, and so established in others. They had not discussed their status, but just sort of fallen into an intimacy so deep that he had trouble imaging any topic being off limits with her. He was smart enough to know he couldn't expect her to fill the void entirely; that would place an unfair burden on their relationship and probably ruin it. But he could see her taking up an important place in the life he was going to try and build now. He would just have to be careful about keeping things in perspective.

_Sex… Are you having any? _Owen smiled. How astute of him to ask that. _I must have pent-up testosterone written all over me_, he mused. Having sex was one of the better recommendations he'd ever received on this side of a medical consult. _I'll get on it right away, Sir!_ he laughed quietly to himself. He was pretty sure this was not going to be the hardest part of this whole endeavor. In fact, the more he thought about it, allowed himself to really imagine letting himself enjoy her, the hornier he got. _Fuck. I'm on call tonight… But tomorrow_…

Tomorrow was full of possibilities.


	17. Planning a Seduction

**A/N: This is the first of the final 3 chapters of this story. which are all going live at the same time. If you have been waiting for the finale, start here. And thank you so much for your patience!  
**

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A good seduction required planning, and Owen Hunt was nothing if not a consummate planner. Years of military training had taught him the value of advance preparation; that, and a healthy dose of luck, had probably saved his life on more than one occasion. Sure, he could improvise with the best of them - a ballpoint pen would do if a trache was not available - but he much preferred to have the necessary tools on hand and use his creativity for finesse, not fundamentals.

He began by addressing the privacy issue. It just wouldn't do to have Dr. Torres walk in at the wrong moment. They had already experienced that particular thrill, and though in hindsight he believed that things had probably turned out for the best, he preferred to avoid any interruptions this time around. With this in mind, he sought Callie out and found her to be amazingly accommodating, to the extent of offering to switch shifts with someone else and be on call for the night. Given her penchant for gossip, Owen had no doubt she was expecting to be paid back with all the sizzling details. He made a mental note to speak with Cristina later and head that one off.

Next came the question of food. They were both on all day, and they would need to eat. It had become glaringly obvious to him even in their short time seeing each other that Cristina would likely starve without takeout and the hospital cafeteria, so depending on the contents of her fridge was a non-starter. He could take her someplace nice, but that would delay things considerably, and now that he had his mind made up, the impatience was building. Preparing a meal for her made the most sense, and was likely to score him brownie points in the bargain. He was, after all, not without kitchen skills. He could fix something basic with some chicken and marinade, pasta, a simple salad, candlelight, wine, something chocolate… He would have to get Callie's key for an hour so he could run to the store over his lunch hour and stash the food. Taking care of these details on the front end would pay off when all they had to do was walk across the street and throw something in the oven.

Just thinking about his plans for the evening - especially the after dinner part - created a tightness in his groin, and he silently blessed whoever had decided that doctors ought to to wear big lab coats.

She had already made it abundantly clear that he could get her into bed without any of this effort, and he didn't stop to think too deeply about why he was doing it anyway. Maybe it was because he had a strong gut feeling that no one had made a noteworthy effort for Cristina Yang in quite a while. Or maybe it was the M&M analogy that had popped into his head and made him smile sometime during the long night of his on-call shift. _She's like those M&M's they send us in the desert: brittle on the outside, all melted and sweet on the inside._ He had seen that soft and sweet interior for the first time when he'd shown her the vent, and now he wanted more. Whatever it took to get that back, he would do it.

Cristina Yang deserved someone who appreciated the shell and craved what was inside. Owen had a strong hunch he was that someone.


	18. Finally

**A/N: This is the second of the final 3 chapters of this story, which are all going live at the same time. If you've been waiting for the finale, start at Chapter 17, not this one.**

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Five months ago, Major Owen Hunt had blown into Seattle Grace as part of an incoming trauma and caused quite a stir, not only by torquing off some of the doctors, but also by infusing some much-needed heat into the previously frozen emotional tundra of Cristina Yang's injured psyche. Sparks had flown, and he had finally kissed her so passionately and unexpectedly that it had taken her a moment to realize there was a good reason to put on the brakes. Then he had disappeared for months, and returned with so much intense emotional pain that Cristina had begun to despair of their spark ever being rekindled in anything but desperation and need. She had mourned the loss of the man who first showed up as her patient, while learning to embrace the one who had eventually come back as her boss. Steeling herself for a long haul, she had hoped against hope for an eventual reward, all the while worried that she might be throwing herself away on yet another Attending... and coming up empty.

But something had changed in the last 24 hours. If today was any indication, Cristina was pretty sure that first guy, the crazy one with the pen and the cocky attitude, was on his way back. How else to explain the sexual tension, the light teasing, the innuendo and playfulness that had filled this workday? While remaining completely professional in front of the rest of the staff, Owen had somehow managed to initiate foreplay without ever saying an obvious word or making an inappropriate move. He had caught her eye several times, sending her a jolt of sexual electricity so strong she half expected someone to yell, _Clear!_ He had teased her, found opportunities to inadvertently touch her, and finally asked her if she had any plans for the evening. Whatever had come over him, Cristina liked it and was flustered by it at the same time, and she was tingling with anticipation over what this evening might hold. She mentally slapped herself for counting the minutes until her shift was over_. Could this be it? Are we finally going to move forward here? _If her instincts were worth anything, (and they usually were, secretive imbecile interns notwithstanding) all signs pointed to **_Yes_**.

-----

Owen met Cristina outside the hospital at 6:00 and they crossed the street to her apartment. She was bubbling over with curiosity. Butterflies had taken up an agitated residence in her stomach, and it was all she could do to keep herself from blurting out something inappropriate… something like_ Are we finally going to get naked tonight? _The anticipation was definitely taking a toll on her composure. Still, she held herself back. Patience had been hard to come by where he was concerned, but had so far served her well in the intimacy department, if not the hot sex department. She decided to keep her thoughts to herself and just let him take the lead.

When she opened the door, she immediately noticed the small kitchen table set for two, complete with wine glasses and a couple of unlit pillar candles set in the middle. A French baguette lay in a long paper bag on the counter, with a small dish of olive oil and balsamic vinegar already prepared and sitting nearby. "Oh, wow. This is really nice of you…" She smiled at him, then grew puzzled, "Wait. How did you get in here?"

"We military guys are very resourceful," he kidded a bit uncomfortably. This was her turf, her sanctuary. He was putting himself out there, and as much as he knew they both wanted this, it was still a bit awkward.

"Uh huh… This must have something to do with my roommate, who by the way is likely to arrive back here any minute, in case you didn't know… So are we expecting take out or something?"

"No to both questions. Dr. Torres has been dealt with – which is something we'll need to talk about later - and we're definitely not having takeout tonight."

_Ok, this IS serious. If he got rid of Callie, he must mean business_. She eyed him speculatively as he opened the fridge and pulled out a package of chicken breasts and a bottle of marinade. "You have something to cook this in, right?" It was a small detail but an important one he had somehow overlooked.

Her mouth dropped open. "You know how to make food?" she asked incredulously.

He didn't know whether to be insulted or amused, and decided on a little of both. "I can keep myself from starving. It's not so hard to do." He put the chicken and the marinade bottle on the counter, then leaned on both hands and looked at her with a bit of playful exasperation. "…Uh, I could use that dish right about now?" Cristina gave him a raised eyebrow and a snotty glare, then got up and rummaged for a minute before finding a suitable container in the cupboard and handing it to him. Owen then slit the package with a knife and expertly dumped the chicken in the dish without touching it, impressing Cristina no end. She had no problem dealing with tissue, live or dead, but she liked her food already cooked, and something about touching raw edible meat put her off. That probably explained why food preparation had remained a mystery to her for so long.

He was conscious of her watching him as he tore the seal off the marinade bottle, and glanced up at her, "It's not brain surgery, Dr. Yang. You should try it some time."

She snorted with derision. "If it WAS brain surgery, **then** I'd be inclined to try it."

She could tell by his expression that he was amused by her comment, and she sensed a golden opportunity. _He won't__ know what hit him, _she realized with a touch of fiendish amusement._ He's been heating things up all day at my expense. Now it's my turn to shake him up a little. _She came around behind him, wrapped her arms around his middle, and leaned against his back. Having her hands on his warm, hard body felt so incredibly good.

"Y'know, this domestic let-me-cook-for-you thing?" she said matter-of-factly, as her hands wandered over his chest, "It kind of makes me want to rip your clothes off." She ran a hand down the front of his jeans suggestively and gave him a little squeeze.

_Whoa. Wasn't expecting that. _The jolt of pleasure from that one simple caress had him almost completely undone. Owen froze_. Shit. No fucking way I'm making it through dinner like this. So much for all my careful planning._ Instead of putting the dish in the oven, he reopened the fridge and placed it on a shelf, then turned around to face her.

"You do realize that what you're ordering is quick and dirty, and what I had in mind for tonight's menu was more along the lines of slow and…" he paused and gave her a wicked grin, "…slow." He kissed her lazily to make his point.

"Mmmm… that's tempting," liquid heat was pooling in her belly, "but I'm growing to appreciate the merits of quick and dirty," she whispered.

"Fair enough." Owen didn't need an engraved invitation - certainly not tonight. She had just thrown out the first pitch, and the least he could do was to take a good, hard swing at it. He slid his hands down to cup her bottom and pulled her against him, covering her mouth this time with a fierce kiss brimming with pent-up sexual tension. She could feel his arousal against her belly, and her pulse and breathing kicked up a notch. He backed her up against the fridge and felt a kick of adrenaline when she yielded against him. Suddenly his hands were everywhere - in her hair, along her jaw, down at her waist... When he surfaced long enough to remember where they were, he picked her up and carried her in his arms to the bedroom. "Even us quick and dirty military types draw the line at doing it in the kitchen," he whispered roughly into her ear.

Owen deposited her onto the bed and followed her down, sliding one hand underneath her sweater as the other tangled in her hair. Her bra was sheer and silky, with no padding, and he lightly teased his fingertip over her nipples as he continued to move his lips over hers. She was busily working on his shirt buttons, but paused with a little gasp as he hit just the right spot on her breast. "You like that?" he murmured. "Mmmm hmmm…" was all he got back. He smiled, "I'll keep it in mind." He reached around her back and expertly unhooked her bra with two fingers, then returned to try and elicit that same response flesh to flesh. He had not seen her naked yet – had actually spent the past few weeks pretending not to look - but he knew that rather than voluptuous, she was small and perky up top. Just the right size, in his book. "Let's get this thing off, shall we?" he proposed, and yanked both sweater and bra off over her head in one swift movement. His mouth immediately took over where his hands had been, and Cristina began moving slowly and sinuously beneath him. She had gotten nowhere with his shirt, but she was much more focused on the sensations he was making her feel than on such trivial details.

It was already dark out, and the streetlights shone in through the window and illuminated the room in a warm glow. Now that they were finally here, Owen wanted to see all of her. He sat up, straddled her legs and took a moment to appreciate the view before using both hands to undo the zipper on her jeans and yank them downward and off. He left the lacy panties where they were for the moment, as much for the surprise of finding this particular style on this particular woman as for the turn-on of having one last article of clothing to remove.

"Hey, no fair," she protested and sat up a little to get her hands back on his shirt and deal with the buttons. Her fingertips slid softly over his torso as she undid him, feeling the springy chest hair and taking a moment to caress what she had exposed. The light touches grazing his heated skin were driving him crazy. Owen had to grit his teeth to keep from consuming her completely, and once she was done he shrugged himself violently out of his shirt. She moved swiftly to his fly, where she got hung up on the button. "Allow me," he insisted, not willing to endure much more of this torture. He brushed her hands away and quickly divested himself of his pants, leaving his boxers on in the hopes that her talented fingers might find a particularly enticing way of removing them.

He pushed her back down on the bed, his mouth quickly finding hers and then traveling downward, kissing her jaw, nibbling on her neck, and delaying for a few moments to tease her breasts. He slowly moved southward, until he was kissing the skin just above the lace of her panties and inhaling her unique scent. He recalled with a smile their first date at the bowling alley when she had mumbled, "Eat me," and thought, _We'll definitely have to get to that later_… In the meantime, the panties had to go, and he removed them without delay, then moved back up to lie beside her, capturing her mouth for another deep kiss. His hand reached down to find her wet and ready, and he watched her closely as his finger began to move in lazy circles. He loved that he could read the pleasure on her face and hear it in her ragged breathing. _There's that look...__ that M&M thing..._ "I think there's still something in the way here…" she purred. She reached for the front of his boxers and lightly teased his hard length through the fabric, then grabbed the waistband and began to yank it downward. Impatient, Owen helped her.

Once she had removed his last piece of clothing, she tentatively reached down to hold and then stroke him. She loved how he was built, and this part proved to be as engaging as the rest of him. She was interrupted almost immediately when he rolled over on top of her. "Much more of that and we'll both be disappointed," he whispered into her ear with a little chuckle. "Hang on a second." He reached over the side of the bed for his jeans and found the condom he'd stored in his pocket, made quick work of it, and then rolled back on top of her. "Sorry for the interruption. Where were we?" he smiled and rubbed his lips over hers lightly before moving in for a deeper kiss. He entwined both his hands with hers, and she opened her legs to allow him access. He could feel her small pelvic movements beckoning him in, and took a second to savor the moment and catch her eye before plunging himself inside her in one hard stroke. She moaned, a sound so sweet to his ears that it nearly made him explode on the spot. "Oh God, you're so soft," he groaned into her hair and began to move slowly and deliberately, using all his restraint to hold himself back from just pounding her into the headboard.

Cristina was aroused beyond anything she had ever felt with anyone. Owen made Burke look like a robot, an automaton, a fucking Disney character, and she had herself a little self-satisfied giggle. Who knew that being left at the altar could turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to her? _I'll take a real, human MAN any day of the week, especially when he comes in a package like this one_. She didn't stop to question the deep connection she felt and the intense pleasure she got from feeling his excitement. That involved thinking. Thinking could come later.

Cristina had never had an orgasm from intercourse alone - had thought it impossible, in fact - but something about the way their bodies fit together was different in a really good kind of way. She began to wonder if it might just work this time, but quickly found out that Owen Hunt didn't like to leave anything this important to chance. He shifted them so he could reach down and tease her again, and all at once she knew she was done for. She felt herself climbing toward the peak, then hanging there for that exquisite second before letting herself crash over the edge, the feel of him inside her accentuating the pleasure as she rode the wave. _Omigod, this is too good…_ As he felt her quiver, heard her little sounds, and watched her dissolve, Owen could hold back no longer. His thrusts became harder, faster, and more intense as he let himself go and followed her down into an exquisite oblivion.

There was silence for several moments, punctuated only by their heavy breathing and an ambulance siren in the distance. Owen shifted his weight a bit so as not to crush her, but remained on top, his body covering hers, his head buried in her hair.

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Cristina chided him playfully. She was rewarded with the deep rumble of his chuckle into her ear. He rolled off and pulled her on her side to face him. "I think I'm starting to fall for you, Cristina Yang… just a little bit." He kissed her nose, and the cocky twinkle in his eyes made her heart do a little flip.

"Does that mean you're still willing to fix me dinner? 'Cause I'm really starving now."

He gave her a long look before closing his eyes and rolling on his back. "Nah... I'm a guy," he gave an exaggerated yawn, "I think I'm supposed to just roll over and go to sleep…"

"Don't be a jerk!" she punched him in the shoulder.

He rolled on top of her in a flash and pinned her to the bed. "Well, since you asked me so nicely, Dr. Yang," he rubbed his lips over hers, deliberately tickling her with his facial hair, "I think I could be persuaded to scavenge up some food… but after ruining all my elaborate plans, you'll have to assist."

"I can manage that," she gave him a little shove so she could sit up, and her stomach rumbled in agreement. "Just tell me what to do."


	19. Letting Go

**A/N: This is the last of the final three chapters of this story, which are all going live at the same time. If you have been waiting for the finale, please go back and begin at Chapter 17, not here.**

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Once in the kitchen, they had immediately devoured the baguette and opened a bottle of wine, which helped tide them over until the chicken was ready. They had thrown together a salad and boiled some pasta in the interim. A half hour later they were back in bed, a pillar candle stolen from the kitchen table casting a soft glow over the room, and their plates in their laps. The nicely set tableau in the other room had been abandoned in favor of something much more intimate and cozy. Cristina had put on a robe, and Owen was back in his grey boxers. They conversed easily, almost as if they were sitting on a park bench or at a restaurant, and not on her bed in the aftermath of one extremely hot session of lovemaking. Not to compare, but Burke had been fully capable of the elaborate gesture – food, wine, candlelight – but the sterility of those encounters contrasted sharply with the warmth and casual nature of this interlude. What could be better than eating dinner in bed with a hot guy you've just made passionate love with? And a hot guy who could cook, too… ? Cristina couldn't think of much. _Well, maybe a triple bypass or a piggyback heart transplant,_ but beyond that, she came up empty.

"Y'know, you really surprised me with the whole candlelight and dinner thing…" she observed.

"What… ? Did you think bowling and cemeteries were the extent of my repertoire?" he asked, the humor only vaguely masking a genuine concern.

"I guess I had no way of knowing just WHAT you were capable of…"

"And you think you know now?"

"I've got some idea…"

Owen caught her eye, and his look was deadly serious with an undertone of steaming hot, "You think you do, but trust me, you don't… "

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Oh." He took her plate from her and set it on the night table.

"Wait! What about dessert? Isn't there dessert?"

"Well, I don't know what you're having, Dr. Yang…" he pushed her back down on the bed and kissed her persuasively, "but I'm having you."

------

Hours later, when they had both discovered a few more tantalizing details about what the other was capable of, they lay curled in each others' arms and drifted toward sleep. Cristina was out within minutes, but Owen had too many things going through his mind to nod off right away. Anders' words came back to him: _If you have a big hole... start to fill it with the things and people that make you happy..._ He was sated, and very excited by the distinct possibility that he would probably never get enough of this woman. Images floated past his mind's eye... of their evening, their lovemaking, the way he had purposely gotten under her skin during the day… and in that kaleidoscope of imagery and sensation that precedes sleep, they were interspersed with other images from other lives, other days. There was the occasional momentary flash from the battlefield, and though this raised his heart rate for a moment, he was able to ground himself with the feeling of Cristina in his arms and let it pass. Faces of the friends he had lost, their voices, drifted by him too, and as they did so he realized that although there was sadness, they had released their hold on his present day life and were moving into the sacred container of memory. For the first time in months, he was firmly rooted in the now and could allow these images to touch him, then let them go.

Owen did not know what the future would hold for him and Cristina. If he had learned anything in the past six months, it was that there were no guarantees for anyone, anywhere. All he could do was give it his best shot, and that he vowed to do.

As he drifted closer and closer to sleep, he saw himself back at the cemetery, sitting on the bench, head bowed, with the elderly vet who had so graciously helped him in his time of most desperate need. He saw Cristina standing under a nearby tree, holding a space for him. And in this near-dream state, he saw tens if not hundreds of other soldiers, substantial and yet insubstantial at the same time, standing all around him. Some had familiar faces but most did not, and he knew without knowing how he knew that they were all there for him. Those nearby laid hands on Owen's shoulders in support, while the others simply surrounded him in silence and solidarity. He could feel their touch and their energy, and he sighed as he sank even deeper into relaxation. He was conscious of an overwhelming peace, allowing a little more of the ever-present grief to flow through him and sink down into the earth.

No, there were no guarantees... but maybe he was finally in a place to make some promises.

He pulled Cristina closer, and entwined his fingers with hers.

And he slept.

THE END

**A/N: I embarked on this story thinking it would be a fun way to spend the GA hiatus, but also feeling very connected to the dynamics of this relationship and to Owen's story in particular. Little did I know how much I would be affected by it once I began. As the plot developed and the characters kept telling me what they wanted, I felt continual pressure from Owen to make sure that the war vets got their due. I hope I've accomplished that, and that you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it.**

**My wish for GA is that the writers show the character of Owen Hunt the respect he deserves, and that they not fall into the repeated pitfalls of this series by doing something to trivialize him or – worse – make him ridiculous. I'll be holding my breath to see what they do with his and Cristina's love story, and hoping against hope that whoever has been writing them up to now will continue to keep things real - and hot!**

**Thanks so much to all of you who have taken the time to read, write reviews, email me privately, and encourage me in this work. I appreciate it more than I can say, and I welcome your reactions to the conclusion of this - my first - fanfic.**

**Take care.**


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